


Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

by Kyaru (Thumbie)



Series: Harveste Addams [6]
Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addams!Harry, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark!Harry, Multi, Original Character Death(s), if that isn't obvious yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 84,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thumbie/pseuds/Kyaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am beyond happy to know that the old guard is still around! Back in 2010, I had no idea what an impact Harveste would have on the HP community, and five years later, I'm STILL getting notifications. I'm not going to promise anything, because we know how well that's worked out in the past, but know that I'm still trying my best to do Harveste and his friends justice. With that in mind, I am slowly re-writing the published stories in order for more coherence when I finally start the rest of the sixth book.
> 
> To the old guard and to the new, you guys ROCK!

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing, Slash and Het

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Puberty.

Just the mere mention of it is enough to make the most successful men and women groan.

It bring back memories of pimples and chin fuzz, awkward limbs and even more awkward emotions, the unwillingness to change in the locker room and utter failure at Gym.

It marks the many changes a child's body undergoes: physical, emotional, psychological. The body produces chemicals and hormones that course through an unsuspecting constitution over a period of several years. The voice deepens, the hips thicken, skin starts to riot and there is oil seepage. From everywhere.

To those who have had an active school life, these changes might have gone unnoticed. Oh certainly, new clothes have been bought to accommodate growing frames, certain desires have started to shift more unexpectedly than quicksand, and for women, there is suddenly a need for a corset or a suitable variation thereof that does not weld your lungs to your spine and cause asphyxiation.

Adolescence is synonymous for Coming of Age, for maturity, for the realization of self and the discernment of your life's path. It is a time to make choices, to stand in the midst of your wants and needs and be buffeted by peer pressure, parental authority and personal bloody-mindedness. It's a time for good and bad, for darkness and light.

For wizards, it's a little more literal.

For the Addams…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The pale golden beach stretched like a warm, inviting smile.

Virgin rainforest covered the rest of the tiny Caribbean island, making it look like a rare jewel amongst the sea's white-crested waves. The few villagers that lived in the area were peaceable and had never known the tragedies of war, the exploitation of tourism or the ravages of pollution. It was an untouched paradise, veritably perfect in every way.

Or at least it had been, before an oil drilling unit in the area had exploded. The earth had rumbled and shook beneath the frightened villagers, and they had seen the burgeoning mushroom of black smoke even though it had been far out at sea. Then men in strange shiny boats had arrived at the island, their unfamiliar language gruff and harsh. In two days, the area had been deserted.

Now, the waves that lapped at the beach were no longer clear or clean. The sand was streaked with thick, slimy bands of black that seeped between the fine grains. Washed up and scattered across the shoreline were the tarred carcasses of seagulls and various sizes of fish. The oil had even managed to find its way into the waterbed, turning the verdant trees into sickly leafless spindles. It seemed that even the sun had turned its back on the once-beautiful island. There were no birds, no people, no fish nor fowl. The only sound was the buzzing of the flies that feasted on the decaying animal corpses.

And the tinny metallic sound of unfolding deck chairs.

"This place is a nightmare. I'm sure Cousin Lumpy would adore a second honeymoon here."

There was a promise of acid rain in the breeze. Uncle Fester had waded out into the foul water and was gesturing wildly with a pack of dynamite. Wednesday, her face impassive, was standing at the water's edge, the water seeming to curve around the trailing ends of her skirt. Her hands were folded over her chest as she tilted her head towards their Uncle, but he could still see her fingers spasmodically tightening over the trigger of a rather large flamethrower. Further on, Grandmama's hunchbacked form hobbled sideways over the beach, dragging a cast-iron cauldron in the sand. Dinner tonight was going to be interesting.

Harry looked down at the sound of a tiny burp. Pubert sat on the sand, his chubby little face grimy with black marks and his jaw industriously working away. A feathery wingtip poked from the side of his mouth.

He leaned over and gave his brother a handkerchief. Pubert considered it for a moment before stuffing into his mouth as well. Harry chuckled fondly before glancing over at the other side of his chair. "Cup of tea, Pugsley?"

"Yes, please." Pugsley, buried up to his neck in the cold, greasy sand, beamed when the china was set down in front of his face with a faint tinkle.

Harry finished setting up the umbrella and settled down with a pleasant sigh. "No sunny skies, a nice, stale breeze, the smell of dead fish… now _this_ is a vacation."

"Mmm." His entombed brother bit the rim of the cup and tilted it upwards. He ended up splashing the scalding brown liquid all over his face.

"Seconds?" Harry offered politely.

"Yes, do. You know," Pugsley said as the tea was poured. "Your sixteenth birthday is coming up. Have any plans?"

Harry blinked with surprise and sat back, still holding the teapot. It wriggled irritably and he put it down next to the sugar tin. "It completely slipped my mind. I've been so busy, what with Tom and school and everything…"

"I'll help you plan it if you like."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He could practically see the whirling dervish of thoughts behind his brother's deranged grin. "Certainly not. You had your fun when you turned sixteen. We had to help Lurch re-flood the basement and Aristotle's fourth arm has never grown back properly."

"Octopodes aren't so resilient when they've hit the big Three-Oh-Oh." Pugsley shrugged, reminded of the disappointment of that day. "All that lovely magnesium, gone to waste. It would have been spectacular if it had worked."

"Thank you for the offer, Pugsley, but I think not. Blood magic will out." Harry smiled. "Besides, mindless destruction is more Father's _familiales de spécialité particulière_. I suspect that Wednesday and I lean more towards Mother's side."

The maddeningly haunting lilt of the violin drifted towards them on the breeze, as if to punctuate his point. It was their Mother, Harry knew, playing the Mayerling Waltz. It was quite fitting, considering the circumstances.

"What's that?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Of course. "It's the Mayerling Waltz from the musical ' _Elisabeth_ ', the one where Rudolf succumbs to Death."

"Rudolf?"

"The son of Elisabeth of Bavaria. You remember, we went to the theater in Vienna?" When Pugsley continued to frown, he tried again. "You blew up that tour bus, remember? Eleven dead, two hundred people hospitalized? They declared a national state of emergency?"

Realization finally dawned. "Right, right."

"Honestly, Pugs, you could listen to some classical music once in a while."

"What, and get culture?"

"Point taken."

There was another splash and Harry topped up the cup again. The sugar tin had run away.

"I'm not fooled, you know, Harveste Addams. I can hear your brain ticking away."

"Dear Pugsley. That's your brain."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

_'He looked upon the Dragon as it lay broken and dying, and he felt the Power call to him as never before.'_

_'Though a demon's blood ran through his veins, he was human still: a Cambion, caught between worlds and between magic. He was an outcast merely for the crime of his mixed blood, and therefore a wandering magician yet untrained and ignorant of the ways of the world.'_

_'His young heart quailed in fear when he saw the Beast he had unknowingly sentenced to death by his Voice.'_

_'He understood now the desire of the Gods, what he was Meant to become. But the price was more than he could bear, and so he turned his back on that beguiling Power- pledging himself to humanity, to Light, to a life of mediocrity among Mortals. In doing so, he sealed himself within himself, and became a mere shell of what he could have been.'_

"Blaise, darling! Lunch!"

Blaise blinked, his concentration broken. The story was interesting, even more so after the fifth or sixth read. He could almost see the shape of it now, almost try to guess at what Harveste was telling them. The bastard, he was sneaky as ever.

The book was slim, covered in supple black leather, with the word ' _Myrddin_ ' embossed in silver on the lower left corner. He had half-expected a gift from an Addams to be poisoned or booby-trapped in some way, and his first time reading it, he had just stopped himself from licking a finger to turn a page. There had been no need for any poison at all though. The words written on the fragile vellum had been enough to set off an explosion in his mind, and as he walked down the staircase into the dining hall, his thoughts ticked away like the measures of a pendulum.

At the station, before they had parted ways at Platform 9 and ¾, Harry had pressed packages into their hands. His eerie green eyes had been as serious as any Professor's, firmly instructing them to read what he had given them, exchange over the summer, and take notes.

Draco, not surprisingly, had answered with, "You're giving us fucking homework? During our summer break?"

Harveste's kiss on his cheek had shut him up. It had shut the whole Platform up.

Blaise had been thinking about that quite often, in fact. Since the three of them had built up a sort of immunity over the years to their friend's homicidal quirks, Harveste had turned to the one thing that could throw them off-balance. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the placidly smiling brunette was using kisses to mollify, pacify or otherwise mystify them so that he could get away with whatever he was doing. The question was why he was using such an unconventional method. Blaise was sure that, even in America, friends did not kiss their friends on the mouth, unless there was Something Going On. It evoked confusing, uncomfortable feelings he didn't really want to consider at this point in time.

He entered the dining hall and pecked his mother's hand when she smiled at him. Then his eyeballs caught up with his brain and he barely masked his sigh as he sat down. Robert Smithson was eating lunch with them today.

Mister Smithson was a good-looking man somewhere around his early forties, sporting a weak chin and a full head of his own hair. He was recently widowed, his wife having died at least two years prior, a business man with no children and estranged from the rest of his family. And he was rich. Blaise hadn't spoken two words to him in the few weeks that his mother had started dating him, but he knew her type by now. What was the use of going out with a man who couldn't pay alimony?

What he didn't know was when Mister Smithson was going to… well, what was the polite word for it? There was none, he was certain, but Harveste would refer to it as 'be useful'.

Blaise chewed on a candied carrot thoughtfully as he stared into space.

Syrena Zabini was a Black Widow. It was an open secret in the pureblood circles, and he had never had the courage to ask her exactly why she had chosen such an illicit path. All he knew about it was that his father had never even lived to see him born, and since his demise, at least seven other men had come and Gone. They all lasted approximately six months, just enough time to special order a wreath, regardless of whether they were wizard, half-blood or Muggle. His mother had never bothered with the race distinction that the other pureblooded families held on to so fervently. Blood was blood, regardless of magical ability, and he had grown up knowing that, so he wasn't surprised that this latest quarry was a Muggle too. Muggles, for all their perceived faults, were surprisingly less easy to trace.

Other children would have been in need of therapy by the time the third husband had choked on his soup, and he supposed he was traumatized but in a different way. He had never really had the urge to learn about that side of magic, and other than the odd digging job every once in a while, he had never actually participated. Meeting Harveste had opened his eyes to his mother's world, and after four years of realizing just how powerful his friend really was, it would be a lie to say he wasn't just a little bit interested. The story of 'Myrddin' had just cemented that conviction. Perhaps, after lunch, he would ask his mother a few questions.

Purely for research, of course.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"The state of your intestines is shameful." Wednesday was saying. "And look, the chicken's still moving around."

"I've got dexterous hands." Pugsley said smugly.

Harry looked at his baby brother over a pail of warm, squelchy meat. They were feeding the carpets, or at least Harry was. Pubert was banging his mace-shaped rattle on the ground, a suspicious red ring around his mouth.

"What do you think they're arguing about, hmm?" He asked idly, dangling a fat-marbled strip over the polar bear's mouth. It snapped the meat up with a hoarse snarl.

Pubert gurgled at him. He was six already but small for his age and he still hadn't spoken a word. He could write though. Harry looked at the bloody scribble on the floor, pursed his lips and wrote the proper spelling of 'Damnation' in big block letters.

" _This_ is how you sacrifice a black cockerel to the undead forces of Hel."

"No, that's how you make stew." Wednesday said patronizingly. " _This_ is how you're supposed to do it. _And_ you're supposed to catch the blood in the bowl."

"You're just jealous 'coz I get to go to New Orleans without an armed guard following me everywhere."

"As if the _loa_ would come to someone who's got their spleen upside-down."

There was a thunk, followed by a squawk and the patter of claws over the floorboards.

"Now where am I going to get another two-year-old black cockerel at this time of night?"

"Blood is blood, wherever it comes from." Harry could just see his sister shrugging. "I could just sacrifice an eighteen-year-old red-haired idiot, and as luck would have it..."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

_'She was blinded by love, her heart torn asunder in betrayal and her soul blazing with the fires of vengeance. Her desire to keep him from the world and other passions not her own became so great that it overpowered her, and the Silver Lady wove the spell that would be her own undoing.'_

_'She turned away from the sun and stretched her hands forth to the shadows between the stars. She spake the Words in the Voice that Myrddin had given her, and a new Power answered her. She named it Dark and she became the Dark, and from her conflicting emotions, she begat three of her own skin and blood: Ninianne of love, Vivianne of betrayal and Morgaine of vengeance. With her last breath, she sent them forth to be her lover's destruction, and she expired.'_

'And yet… she lived on.'

"Hermione?"

Monica Granger pushed open the door of her daughter's bedroom. It wedged up against a barbell.

"Sorry, mum. Got caught up." The weight was removed, and Hermione straightened, a book in her hand. "Time for lunch?"

They were almost the same height now. It was like Monica was looking at a younger copy of herself, except that her daughter had inherited her father's chocolate-brown eyes. Monica teared up inexplicably and she smiled to mask them. "Not for another few minutes, dear. I was just wondering whether you'd like your friends to come over sometime next week? I'd like to meet them."

Hermione kept herself from starting, her hold tightening on the book as it threatened to slip from her fingers, but not before Monica saw the word ' _Nimue_ ' written on the green leather cover. "You want my friends to come here? To the house?"

"Why, yes. I would like to get to know them. You don't really talk about them, but I've seen the owls. And that vulture."

"That's Harry's. They don't really use owls."

"Ha-ri?" Her mother pronounced with a tinge of doubt. "Is he the one that lives in America? His name sounds a little... different."

"It's complicated, mum." Hermione said with a tiny smile. "Er… you really want them to visit?"

"Of course, dear."

People didn't think of dentists as doctors. It was as if they couldn't see past the lack of a stethoscope to the real healing that proper oral hygiene could be responsible for. The mouth was the gateway to the whole body, and maintenance on that front was very important. Monica prided herself on the fact that her daughter had grown up knowing how to floss and brush her teeth correctly. There were too few of them in the world. Hermione had taken after her, quiet and studious and, as an unfortunate by-product, quite friendless in her younger days. She remembered the elementary years as alternating between floods of tears and times of uncertain indifference. Ever since Hogwarts though, that had changed, and as a mother, she was both elated and apprehensive because that meant only one thing.

Hormones.

Monica wasn't a gossip by any means but even she had heard some of the stories on the grapevine. Young Eloise Youd, who lived a few doors down, had gotten mixed up in undesirable company and had been grounded for at least a year for being drunk and disorderly at a party. Evan Bellinski, at Number Twenty-three, had turned into some sort of black and white ghoul and was listening to music that was akin to an eighteen-wheeler running over electric guitars. Carter Prince, the son of the local shopkeeper, and his girlfriend of two weeks had been arrested for possession of marijuana. It was all very bad business, and Monica couldn't help but be worried. Adolescence in this day and age was obviously not as wholesome as it used to be. Her only child spent most of her year away from her family and there was no telling what kind of shenanigans magical teenagers got up to. So she had come up with a plan.

"Er, mum?"

Monica blinked away her thoughts and smiled at her daughter. "Yes, darling?"

"Are we paid up on insurance?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Silky red rose heads littered the greenhouse floor like pools of freshly spilled blood. They crunched faintly underfoot as Harry continued trimming the persistently thriving bushes. They were a very hardy breed from Calcutta. Perhaps he would ask Pugsley to stir up a new batch of pesticide. They hadn't tested anything on Lurch in a long time.

"Viper?"

Harry looked over his shoulder and stepped to one side to make room for his mother. She crept across the floor like a large, beautiful spider, her hips swaying in the tight black funeral dress she so favored. Wednesday and he had wondered for years whose graves they had come from.

"You've been so quiet these past few days. Cat got your tongue?"

"Oh, Mother." Harry smiled wistfully. "Kitty hasn't been herself lately. Perhaps she needs a mate? I do miss the way she lies in wait and tries to rip my throat out."

"Your father's still banned from Africa for at least ten more years, darling." Morticia's eyes gleamed at the memory. "But I shall keep it in mind. Speaking of mates … your friends have usually visited us by this time. Has something happened?"

"Nothing at all, Mother." Harry gave up trying to use the scissors on a particularly tough stem and pulled his fan from a sleeve. There was a thin pained wail. "I just gave them something to think about."

A woody vine began to wind around their ankles. Morticia gave it an admonishing tap and it slunk away sullenly. "Would it have anything to do with your turning sixteen next year? You remember what I told you about your magical maturity, darling."

"I've kept it in mind. Aside from that, I suppose it'll be just like any other birthday party, with the chains, the screaming and pleading, a girl baked in a cake... Don't worry so, Mother. I know where we keep the shovels."

The tall, gaunt woman smiled wistfully at another memory. "I met your Father on my sixteenth birthday, you know."

"Yes, Mother."

"It was so romantic. An open grave, a new corpse and lightly falling snow covering the blood that he threw up on my shoes." She sighed. "I can only hope it will be as memorable for you, darling."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Draco tilted his head to one side as he scribbled something in his notes, then paused to scan the yellowing parchment again. He shifted on the duvet, one leg already numb beneath him, and a book dug into his hip.

Lucius raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic chaos. It seemed that his son had moved half the Malfoy Library into his room. There was no surface that did not support at least a three-foot pile, and those that weren't scattered on the floor had taken over the bed.

He stood there for a moment before realizing that Draco was much too engrossed in what he was doing. Lucius cleared his throat pointedly. "May I ask what you are doing?"

"Wha- Father?" The young blond made to stand up and winced at the annoying prickle of pins-and-needles. "You're home early."

"The Minister has decided to bless us hard-working Ministry officials with a long weekend." Lucius' upper lip curled as he thought about the quavering, insecure man and his audacious bowler hat. A peeling title caught his eyes, which widened with surprise. "You're researching gods, Draco?"

"Oh. Yes." Draco looked flustered and he rubbed his neck as he tried to explain. "Well, I was just… They're all a bit confusing, but I'm sure that when Hermione and Blaise have their turn, they'll make their own lists. The history is very interesting, but it's so hard to make a choice. I suppose I could ask Harveste, but then that would be like cheating, wouldn't it?"

The older Malfoy blinked. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"This." Draco riffled among the leather bindings and gilded covers before unearthing a thick roll of parchment. "The pre-requisites of the Low Call."

Lucius' face turned impassive at the sight of the neat, spidery words written across the front. Behind the marble façade though, his emotions began to churn into an uneasy froth. "The Low Call to _Blood_ Magic."

The younger blond nodded absently, then caught the look on his father's face.

"I do have a full twelve months to decide before reaching my maturity." Draco said somewhat warily. Despite the fact that he knew the man would never raise a hand to him, Lucius Malfoy still had a way of radiating a compellingly chilly aura. "Besides… oh _honestly_ , Father, you can't have not expected this to happen. You did tell me to consider all options and blood magic is an option."

"Malfoys have pledged to Dark Magic for hundreds of years." The tone of Lucius' voice was stony. "I assume it was the Addams boy who gave you that."

"Yes, Father."

The room was pleasantly warm, but Lucius couldn't suppress a shudder at the memory of that night in the graveyard. He vividly recalled the inhuman sheen in the green eyes that had bored into him with all the relentlessness of an augur. The pure animalistic magic that had rampaged through the evening sky had torn at his composure and awakened feelings he thought he had rid himself of. No, Harveste Addams was not the Dark Lord.

He was far worse.

"Just promise me you won't choose until you're certain, Draco. Once you've started down that path, there is no way back."

"Yes, Father." Draco said again, quietly. He waited until Lucius had swept away before going back to the books. Something poked at his side again and, frowning slightly, he pulled it free.

It was a _senbon_ , silver fire coursing over its surface as he tilted it under the lamplight. Draco smiled to himself and tucked it back under his pillow. It was no choice at all, really.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Femur and patella, Tibia and fibula, Calcaneus, talus and navicular.

We have medial, intermediate and lateral cuneiform, cuboid and metatarsal bones.

And in your toes, let's not forget those

Proximal phalanges and intermediate phalanges

And distal phalanges-"

"You're singing him the jointing song, Harry?"

Wednesday stood in the nursery doorway, a ghostly figure enshrouded in her webbed nightgown. It was so realistic that a fingernail-sized spider scuttled over the interlaced weave and disappeared over her shoulder. Harry put a finger over his lips and gestured towards the crib, which was vibrating from the force of the deep, ghastly growls and echoing snores that sounded like they came from the devil himself.

"I just got him to go to sleep." Harry whispered to her as she came to stand beside him. "He came into my room fifteen minutes ago and nearly stabbed me with a fillet knife."

"That's no good. Far too bendy."

"I know. He's long overdue for a hatchet."

Wednesday looked down at their youngest sibling, crammed into the cot like a pig into a jam jar, drooling in his sleep and happily sucking on a thumb. Her eyes narrowed in recognition and she started to reach for her pocket. "That's my bookmark."

There should have been no space for him to move in the too-small cot, but Pubert managed to wriggle and pull his blanket over himself just in time. A purplish potion splattered onto the moth-eaten fabric and started to smoke.

"Let him have it for tonight." Harry covered his mouth delicately as he yawned. "There'll be plenty of time to string him up tomorrow."

"Why put off till tomorrow what you can kill today?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Lightning streaked through the stormy morning sky like the horns of a thwarted Minotaur. Heavy rain drummed constantly at the roof tiles and the wind stirred the nooses and rusty gibbets, which were currently unfilled. Morning golf was out of the question.

Cars were bumper to bumper in the street, honking pointlessly under the downpour.

"A Buick. Perfect."

Gomez hefted a bowling ball, sighted carefully and swung his arm back.

The crash was audible above the wind, and Harry smiled around his cup as the yelling began. He was drinking tea with his mother in the shady lee between the towers. There was no wind in the small space and rain seemed to divert around them to dump the worst on Lurch as the stoic butler held the scoreboard.

Harry looked over to where Wednesday was putting the finishing touches on a wooden coffin. In neat copperplate across the lid was one word: Pubert.

"You missed a bit."

As she tilted it to the side to dab on more varnish, footsteps began to thunder up the stairs. Harry had enough time to put down his cup and hold up a lemon before an eight-inch blade whirled over his shoulder. It bit deeply into the yellow rind.

"Really, Pugsley."

"Mail's in." His brother said, hopping over Wednesday's sneakily extended leg. "Cross your fingers for anthrax."

Harry delicately ripped the first letter open and shook it out. A postcard fell onto his lap. "No such luck. Uncle Liverworth sends his love. They'll be back from Greece in a week. Look, they got a picture with the Hydra. They - What's this?"

There was a small package, about the size of a head, wrapped in brown paper and tied off with twine. It wasn't seeping viscous fluid, which was a bit strange. Harry picked it up and rattled it experimentally. No ticking and no strange smells. How bizarre.

Morticia looked around her new copy of Living in Vein. "Perhaps it's one of Uncle Fester's collectibles?"

"I don't think so. It's addressed to Wednesday."

There was a whistle in the air and with a rip, the package fell open, freeing a cascade of shiny, colorful foil-wrapped things, most of which plopped into a rain puddle.

"Candy? Who would send you candy?"

Wednesday finished coiling the length of wire and snatched at a slip of paper that had managed to escape. "'A token of our admiration'." She read out loud. The paper spontaneously combusted in her hand as she gripped it, and thunder crashed as if agreeing with her suddenly venomous tone. "It's those Weasleys."

"What are Weasleys?" Morticia inquired.

"You remember those two boys from Hogwarts, Mother, the twins with the red hair?"

"And they are interested in our Wednesday, are they?" Gomez rubbed his hands together gleefully. "That's wonderful! A matching set!"

A choking sound made them turn. Pugsley, his eyes larger than saucers, was clutching at his throat. His tongue was hugely bloated, spilling out of his mouth and lolling onto the floor like an obscene slug. At his feet was a shiny wrapper.

"Goth guyth ah bill-iant!" He somehow managed to gag, his lips already tinged with blue "Gan I af da etht?"

"Oh dear." Even Morticia looked slightly amused. "He's choking to death."

Harry looked at Wednesday. "Let's help him along."

As if on cue, a harsh screech came from downstairs.

"Who put Pubert in the cooking pot?"

Harry and Wednesday grinned at each other.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

.

.

…

End of Part 1

Hope you guys don't mind that the short sweet vignettes are gone. I tried, but it just didn't fit somehow. From now on, the serious world of Harveste Addams begins!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing, Slash and Het

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Pubert had been fine after they scraped the giblets off him. Indeed, he wasn't even any worse for the wear, and a good boil had cleared up his rash. Now he tottered behind Morticia like usual, a morbid little black duckling amongst the colorful fluffy costumes of the other pre-schoolers.

"Do we have to be here, Mother?" Wednesday said with a long-suffering sigh, wincing minutely as a glitter-adorned fairy brushed too close for comfort. "It's all so... cherubic."

Harry smiled. His darling younger sister could make a word sound like the worst thing since penicillin.

"Come now, dear, we all have to play our part." Morticia's lips curved, a red-tipped hand on Pubert's head. "After all, what would the hunter be without the prey?"

"And we have to show our support for Pubert!" Gomez said, grinning around the cigar clenched in his teeth. "I'm sure it will be just as riveting as your rendition of Shakespeare a few years ago. You'll knock 'em dead, won't you, my boy?"

" _Mon cher_ ," Morticia said admonishingly. "After the play."

"Er… Mrs. Addams?"

Harry looked over his mother's shoulder. It was Miss Firkin, Wednesday's old homeroom teacher. She looked very nervous, her hands twisting over each other like snakes in oil as she asked Morticia to accompany her for the second time in her life. A brave woman, Harry thought. Most people ended up far too traumatized the first time around.

"Hi!" A happy voice chirped. "Is your brother in the play too?"

Harry grabbed his sister's hand first before turning around, preventing an almost certain death in their vicinity. He was nearly blinded half a second later when he got an eyeful of the girl who had spoken.

More 'blonded' than 'blinded' as a matter of fact, and not someone who was an acceptable shroud-colored blond like Draco, but a grating, too-cheerful blond that was undoubtedly the result of sunshine, answered dreams, and enough peroxide to poison a small country. There were shiny bangles and a dress that was seemingly all sequins, as if whoever had made it had no concern at all for other people's retinas. The hall was lit with fluorescent light, which made it so much worse.

Surely that much sparkle was illegal. He had half a mind to skewer her with his umbrella.

"Who let the blessed sun in?" Pugsley muttered, blinking away the spots that danced in front of his eyes.

Wednesday crossed her arms. She had already put on a pair of sunglasses which dwarfed her face and gave her the look of a bleached skull.

"My little sister is the Fairy Thistledown." The unrepentantly glittery teen said, arranging the headband on what Harry had assumed was a bejeweled beach ball. "Mother was so proud of her getting the lead part that we had the gown flown in from Seattle." She beamed at them all, then she looked down at Pubert with a confused smile. "What's he supposed to be?"

"A festering sore on the face of humanity." Harry said, clearing the distaste from his expression as he patted his little brother's head. "But for the play I think he's just one of the villagers."

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

No one who looked at Morticia Addams would ever think she was a stage mother. Her thin black-clad form stood stoically in the midst of the ruckus that was the prequel to a grade school play. Her arms were crossed, a slender finger tapping against her crimson lips, an eyebrow arched- her usual stance when she was contemplating something strange, like someone willingly wearing pastels.

Harveste stood beside her, Pubert at his side, just as bemusedly watching one such stage mother spitting on a handkerchief and vigorously scrubbing at her daughter's face with it. The younger girl had the long-suffering look of one who had been through the wars, and was now just going through the motions. She wasn't the only one. In fact, all the tantrums and tears were coming from the parents.

It was like Torture for Toddlers. Harry could almost feel a twinge of pity for them.

Pubert, already in his villager's costume, was contentedly sucking away at his fingers. He hadn't been deterred in the least by Wednesday and kept stealing her bookmarks, no matter how many bear traps she put in her room. It seemed that his little brother was growing up to be quite the thief, and Harveste couldn't be prouder. They hadn't had a proper thief in the family for years.

Although… these particular fingers didn't look like they had been through the cursory two weeks in formaldehyde. They looked fresh. Lividly fresh, in fact.

"Hey, has anyone seen Mr. Afferty?" One stage hand asked, popping his head into the room. "The sandbags are uneven on his side."

"I'll check on it." Miss Firkin said with a weary sigh. She stood up and stepped into the next room.

A second later, there was a startled, horrified scream, followed by a thud. A few parents, those who hadn't grabbed on to their children, looked at each other and bravely went after her.

There was one more thud and the sound of retching. By now, more people had gotten curious enough to take a look. Harveste blinked and looked at his Mother as the smell of fresh vomit started to pervade the atmosphere, almost but not quite masking the distinctive coppery smell of blood.

"I blame your Father for putting ideas into his head." Morticia sighed once they had managed to get out of the dressing room. "I did say after the play, did I not, Pubert? Pubert?"

"Where has that little devil gotten to?" Harveste said curiously, sighting over the press of bodies that were now futilely rushing to the aid of the late Mr. Afferty. "He was here a second ago- there you are, my gravedigger. Where have you been, hmm?"

Pubert stretched out his arms to be picked up. In one of his pudgy little hands was clenched an empty matchbook.

The fire brigade arrived twenty minutes later, but by then, all they could do was stand to the side and watch as the schoolhouse succumbed to the hungry flames.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Blaise absently chewed on his toast as he unrolled the Scroll of Tricksters a little further. It was almost just an exciting a read as 'Myrddin'.

"Pass the jam, dear." Syrena said from the other end of the table.

Blaise pushed the pot of strawberry preserves across without looking. Maenads, he read, literally translated as 'the raving ones', would roam the forests of ancient Greece in their intoxicated frenzy, slaying animals with their bare hands and laying with each other indiscriminately. In this way, they paid homage to Dionysus, and in return for their unwavering devotion, the God of Wine blessed the fields and mountains where they lived.

"Pass the _other_ jam, dear."

He looked up from the parchment, then down at the other pot. The stuff inside was thick, red and clotted - just like strawberry preserves - but fruit it was most definitely not. "Sorry, Mother. I'm just a little distracted."

"I can tell, darling." She said, smiling kindly as she stirred a good dollop of the 'jam' into her porridge, turning it pink. "It's a momentous decision, performing the Low Call."

"I suppose."

A house elf materialized by his elbow without the distinctive pop that usually preceded the appearance of one of their species. The Black Widow did not appreciate sudden noises. Blaise was coming to the conclusion that his mother was more like the Addams than he had realized.

"Mail for you, Master Zabini."

"Thank you, Runi." Blaise took the creamy parchment envelope from the wooden tray and opened it. "My new book list. Who reads about defensive theory anymore?"

A silver badge fell out of the envelope and clattered onto the table. "Oh no."

"A Prefect badge! Oh darling, I'm so proud of you."

Despite himself, a corner of his mouth twitched. "Draco's going to have a fit."

"He was always a competitive young boy."

"You have no idea, Mother."

The grandfather clock in the hall began to chime out the hour.

"How time flies." Syrena dabbed fastidiously at her lips with a napkin. "Come along, dear. I have a meeting with the lawyers at nine-thirty and I simply cannot be late."

With a despondent sigh, he stood up, tucking both the badge and Scroll away in his robes. Runi appeared once more, this time bearing a shovel and a pair of gloves. Blaise took them. Digging, especially such a large plot, always took a toll on his palms.

Then he followed his mother out into the vineyard to ask Dionysus for His Blessing.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

The factory hunkered close to the ground like a metal barnacle, belching its acrid, black fumes into the sky. Thick green slime dripped from one of its many sewage pipes, landing among rusty cans and used diapers that floated on the surface of the lake. The relative silence was broken only by the dull hum of machinery, and by the foghorn of a passing garbage barge that made its slow, smelly way across the water.

Gomez took a deep breath and spread his arms wide. "Smell that air, children!" he exclaimed with a manic grin. "The fragrance of civilization!"

Harry smiled even as he picked his way over the rocks and stones by the lakeside. A happy Father always made for an exciting day.

His fifteenth birthday had been a few days ago, and now his Maturity loomed ever nearer. He didn't feel any different, which was to be expected from someone who had been dedicated to a specific branch of magic since birth. It was a pity really. He had heard that the physical changes could be excruciating.

Wednesday's grace was apparent even in the wilderness. The way she moved was like a hanged man on the gallows, drifting along with every gust of the wind. Pugsley, on the other hand, moved like a lumbering bear and somehow got hit with a low-hanging branch every other step. It was like he was doing it on purpose.

A trail of smoke caught Harry's eye and he looked down. "Pubert, darling, you're supposed to put the other end in your mouth."

"Look at this view!" Their father rubbed his hands gleefully, his gaze piercing the choking smog and roaming the garbage-encrusted lake shore. "Fishing at this time of year, there's nothing like it! Does everybody have their fishing equipment?" Gomez hefted an ancient fishing rod and looked at them expectantly.

Pugsley slotted a three-pronged harpoon into a modified spear gun and grinned.

Wednesday crossed her arms over her chest, a black bottle dangling from her hand.

Pubert burped, and his ears started smoking.

Harry put the box he was carrying on the ground. Something squeaked and scuttled around in it, and he felt something scaly brush past his fingertips before he found what he was looking for.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Later on, after they had scooped the fish out of the water and picked off the plastic bits, they lit a fire. It burned blue at the edges and Pubert kept trying to crawl into it.

"But why sixteen?" Wednesday was saying. "We've been sacrificing for ages. All ages."

"You might as well ask why we don't pop out into the world fully-grown. Most mothers find it torturous enough squeezing out a normal-sized baby."

"Ah, the joys of childbirth." Gomez said, lighting another cigar. "Your mother said it was agony."

"Still, both you and Pugsley will have reached your Maturity soon-"

Pugsley rolled his eyes. "I'm eighteen already, Wednesday."

"-and I get left behind just because I'm the youngest."

"Pubert's the youngest." Harry pointed out.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow at him. "That is subject to change."

 

Pubert, who was happily gnawing on a fishbone, looked up as the fire crackled.

"It doesn't really matter." Harry said, picking his little brother up by the foot and hauling him backwards yet again. "Magical maturity is for other people. It's like the age when you can be convicted of manslaughter, because that's when the government thinks you're old enough to be capable of realizing the full consequences of murder."

Pugsley looked up from his two-headed trout. "There are consequences?"

"Anyway, Mother's told me all I need to know. You're not old enough yet." Harry took Pubert's neatly picked fish skeleton and twisted it upwards and to the left, catching the barbed head of a whip as it came whistling out of the air. The taut line shone faintly under the moonlight. "She'll tell you in time, Valkyrie."

"I want to be prepared." She insisted, flicking her wrist to untangle her whip. It whined like a steel thread and Harry let go of the fishbone. "Do I need to read up on potions or the old invocations? Because I think the library ate our copy of the Necronomicon."

"You'll be fine." Harry said as Pubert found the spare stick of dynamite and started to bite the end. "You're all set up with Cedric and the twins."

"What do you mean?" Her eyes lit up suddenly, looking a lot like their father's. "I'll have to sacrifice one of them, is that it? Oh, that's too cruel. Do I have to wait till I'm sixteen?"

Harry caressed the fuse as it waved in front of his face. It sputtered and sparked into life. Pubert promptly stuffed it into his mouth and there was a sizzle. "You're certainly more excited than I am. And it's not 'sacrifice', per say. Not really. Well, mostly."

"What do you mean? How do you mostly sacrifice someone? And I don't understand what it has to do with – oh." Harry watched the realization slowly dawn on her face. "Oh. I see. That's why Mother – And you've got yours all lined up, like pigs to a slaughter. How clever."

"Hardly. It's only clever when the pigs walk to the slaughterhouse by themselves."

"And how will you manage that?"

Harry didn't answer, but the slow, sinister curl of his lips over their brother's head made their father laugh.

Wednesday tilted her head to one side, looking at him thoughtfully. The firelight danced, making the shadows flicker, and for a moment, it seemed like half her face had melted into the night. "They don't know, do they? Which one will you choose, Harry?"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?"

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

"Sex!"

Silence thickened like vomit soup, punctuated by the hiss and spit of the cauldron on the fire and the sound of Remus choking on an eyeball. Wednesday froze, the cleaver in her hand stopping inches from Pugsley's head. Even their breakfast stopped in mid-squeak. Then everyone at the table turned to look at the high chair.

Pubert looked back at them and smiled widely as he banged his spoon. "Sex!"

Morticia raised an eyebrow.

"Your first word, my little gravedigger!" Harveste said, finally breaking the quiet. "Well done!"

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Hestia Jones craned her head backwards. The out-dated but still formidable house loomed over her, and she could barely see the spire of the topmost roof. The air smelled swampy and dusty at the same time, with a tinge of mold that made her scrunch up her nose.

"Are you sure we've got the right house?" She yelled over her shoulder at her companion.

"Wha'?" Mad-eye Moody yelled back. The tail of his coat had gotten stuck in the driveway gate as it shut behind them, and for some reason it refused to let go. Growling with frustration, he swung his cane at the rusted metal bars. The gate shook and snarled at him. "Gerroutuvit, yer bastard!"

"I'll just – I'll just knock, shall I?" Hestia said nervously, tapping timidly on the door as she spoke. This close, she could hear vague sounds, like someone was fighting. She knocked louder. "Er, hello? Is anyone in there?"

She felt the porch rattle under her feet before the door was opened. Its hinges had the same sort of echoing groan that was in all of her brother's old scary movies, and it sent Hestia's heart straight up to her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment. This was no way for an Auror to act.

A deep, crypt-like voice boomed, "You. Knocked. ?."

Her eyes slammed open. Only one thing could enounce a question mark.

There was a distant rip, as if of a coat being drastically altered in a hurry, and the uneven footsteps of Mad-eye as he quickly stumped up the gravel drive. "You need to get that gate looked at, my man."

The zombie, a giant by anyone's standards, looked at him blankly.

"Is this 0001 Cemetery Lane?" Mad-eye asked brusquely, dusting off his tattered coat. He turned to Hestia. "What's the matter with you, girl?"

She shook her head, her hands clasped desperately in front of her mouth to stop the scream from getting out.

The zombie – _a zombie!_ \- nodded. She could almost hear its ancient neck bones creak.

An explosion rocked the porch pillars, and Hestia had to grab onto Moody's shoulders to steady herself. Another one followed, and amidst the renewed sounds of clashing metal and running, a piece of the ceiling broke off and fell on the zombie's head. Plaster rained down on the three of them.

 _This_ was where Harry Potter lived?

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Pugsley had been dying to test his new modified cannon out, and now he had his chance. Pubert would have been spattered all over the next door neighbor's wall if he hadn't been wearing an impromptu parachute made out of his Blankie.

Harveste was impressed. No one had taught Pubert about parachutes. It was probably the Addams genes at work.

Well, if he was old enough for murder and arson, then there was no need to hold back, was there?

Senbon flashed for just a moment in the yellowing lamplight, puncturing a succession of holes into the Blankie. It wailed angrily, and his little brother echoed the sound. Harveste ducked the flaming arrow and rolled behind an armchair.

An axe cut through the cotton padding, mere millimeters from his cheek. He didn't have to hear the ticking to know that Wednesday had booby-trapped it. He spun around and kicked it so hard it went across the room and hit Lurch square in the kneecaps.

**_BOOM!_ **

By the time the smoke had cleared, Harveste had already rolled Wednesday up in the carpet and knotted Pubert to the chandelier. "Time for dinner is it, Lurch?"

The butler shook his head and stepped to the side, revealing a thin young woman with widened eyes and a gnarled lump of a man, whose crudely chopped hair still hadn't grown back.

“Aurors. Moody. And. Jones.”

"Professor Moody, how nice to see you in person." Harveste inclining his head politely. "Who is your lovely companion?"

"Auror Hestia Jones." The man said gruffly, waving his hand towards the woman. She was staring at Pubert, who was dangling high off the floor and fussing. "We're here on Ministry business."

"Is that so? I must say, this is highly irregular."

"That child," Hestia quavered. "That _child_ is being _strangled_!"

"Is he?" Harveste looked up. "He'll get over it. Would you like some tea?"

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Pubert had made quick work of the knots, just like Harry had predicted, and looked no worse for the wear as he toddled off to the kitchen. Both Mother and Father had gone into the drawing room to greet the guests.

Harry leaned to one side, letting the wickedly hooked knife whistle past him. "I see you've been to the Finuccis again. Nice scrollwork."

"Who are those people downstairs?"

He stepped to aside to make room for Pugsley in the narrow staircase. Uncle Sirius' room was in the east turret, with plenty of windows. He said he liked seeing the sun first thing in the morning, and because no one was using the room for that exact same reason, it had become his.

"They’re Aurors. Apparently, there have been sightings of a wolf pack near here and the British Ministry suspects that the alpha may be an escaped werewolf from the Isles." Harry sighed as they continued to climb. "Privately, I think that they've just come to check up on me. They stink of Light magic. And phoenix."

They both made a face.

Pubert stepped on to the landing first and cocked his head curiously. "Hey, do you smell that?"

"You must be joking. I shall have to spend half an hour in the dungeons just to get rid of the stench of cinnamon." Harry pushed the door to his Uncle's room open.

He blinked. Then he blinked again. With the door open, he could definitely smell what Pugsley had been talking about.

The room reeked of active procreation.

"Oh. I do apologize." The brunette paused in a moment of uncharacteristic uncertainty, but decided to continue. "There are two Aurors downstairs, one Alastor Moody and one Hestia Jones, and they're seeing to a werewolf disturbance in the vicinity. I'm certain Moody's eye won't be able to see through Grandmama's potion, but it would be safer for both of you to take another half dose. But you may finish what you are doing first, of course."

"What's the hold up?" Pugsley said, poking his head over Harry's shoulder. "Oh. I told you-"

A knife vibrated into existence in the doorjamb.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock?" Sirius said in his unashamed and amused baritone. The sheets around him giggled.

" _They_ have booby-traps." Pugsley volunteered, his eyes huge as he tried to look further into the room.

"We'll just have to take a leaf from their book then. Now, if you don't mind shutting the door?"

"Certainly." Harry said, finally managing to trip his older brother and send him rolling down the stairs. "Do enjoy yourselves, Uncle Liverworth, Uncle Lumeno, ladies."

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Harry, Draco and Blaise sat in the parlor of the Granger house, talking over tea and cookies while Crookshanks snoozed in front of the fireplace. It was strangely mundane, or as mundane as it could be with an Addams in attendance.

Hermione had been worried that her mother might ask why one of her male friends was wearing a skirt and corset, but one look at Blaise and Draco's robes had Monica rationalizing it away as wizarding fashion.

Harry had been very interested in dentistry and had brought a list of questions about impacted molars and gingivitis. He had even asked about trench mouth. Monica had never had such an avid listener before and had gone into great detail about her job. Her mother had been gratified that at least one of her friends apparently took his oral hygiene seriously. Draco and Blaise just kept wincing, especially when the conversation topic turned to surgery.

And then there had been Deidre.

The Black Mamba, presumably roused by their voices, had poked her slim head from the neck of Harry's shirt. It would have startled someone who was unprepared, but her mother had been witness to many an unexpected ruptured abscess and had handled herself admirably. Harry further defused the situation by being his normal, disconcertingly cordial self and had somehow charmed her into not minding the fact that a poisonous viper was in her house. And the beauty of it all was that Monica hadn't fainted once, and she even seemed quite taken with Harry.

Hermione had grown up thinking that dentists were clever and practical, but it wasn't until today that she realized that they had to be a little bit mad as well. Both her parents were dentists, so it was probably genetic. Somehow, that thought comforted her,

She cleared her throat, banishing those thoughts for the meanwhile, and beamed when her three friends turned to look at her. "I was made one of Gryffindor's Prefects this year." she announced with pride, taking a small gold badge from her pocket and showing it off.

"You don't say." Blaise paused in the act of biting a coconut biscuit. "I was too. Mother was over the moon about it. She started crying over Mr. Smithson's grave and everything."

Draco blinked and decided to ignore the last comment in favor of the first. "What do you mean, 'I was too'? You're Slytherin's Prefect this year?"

"Well, I didn't want it. Being Prefect means handling the First Years and all their whiny, crybaby nonsense.”

"But you can't be Slytherin's Prefect. I'm way more Slytherin than you. _Harveste_ is way more Slytherin than you."

"Don't be silly, dear." Harry had predictably steered clear of the biscuit plate and had gone for the lemon slices that Monica had set out for their tea, nibbling on them with every sign of enjoyment. "I presume they didn't want their First Years in the care of someone dear Tom is interested in."

Draco made a face. "You make it sound like he's courting you or something."

His mouth snapped shut of its own accord as soon as those words had been said. Harveste chuckled pleasantly and Hermione bit her lip, trying to fight the urge to giggle. She was confident that she knew more about Harry than Draco and Blaise did, and she hadn't missed the thoughtfully intrigued look that flickered momentarily over his face.

Besides, there had been a reason why Harry had given her Nimue to read first. It had been extremely enlightening.

"It's not funny, Harveste." Blaise said, unaware of her thoughts. "That's just… bleargh."

"Yeah, you could do so much better." Draco said without thinking. Another sour look passed over his face, but he gritted his teeth and forged on. "Anyway… You can't be our Prefect, Blaise. I won't stand for it."

"Stop being a whiny pissant, Draco, and pass the sugar."

"I'm sure the teachers considered everyone in Fifth Year and chose accordingly," Harry said with a placating smile, swallowing his mouthful and reaching for another lemon slice. "They couldn't have picked anyone better for the job, Hermione."

She grinned at him and tucked the badge away. "Thanks, Harry."

Draco's mouth, on the other hand, had dropped open at the implication. "Blaise isn't better than me." He said, affronted. "He's just… _taller_ , is all. Taller isn't better."

Blaise rolled his eyes.

Harveste watched the three of them. It was too early to tell whether they had learned from the enchantingly tragic epic of Lord Myrddin and the Silver Lady, but it didn't matter. He smiled, the twitch of his lips hidden by the teacup, as Hermione gave in to her laughter, slinging one arm around the scowling blond's waist in a loose hug as she snickered into his shoulder. Draco's cheeks inflated for a moment before he sighed and slumped in his seat, bemoaning his lack of supportive friendships. Blaise looked like he couldn't care less, and he didn't really, not about Draco's fit of childish temper. But Harry took note of his body language, which had become more compact at the mention of dear Tom, and way he sat, which kept both doorways and the window in his line of sight.

" _Vali_ ," He said fondly, and Blaise turned to look at him questioningly. "Congratulations on becoming Prefect."

A faint reddish tinge appeared on the Slytherin's cheeks and Hermione started to laugh harder.

"Will you children like to stay for an early supper?" Monica asked, poking her head in from the kitchen.

Both Draco and Blaise, enmity forgotten in the face of embarrassment, made assenting noises and Harry smiled politely. "Yes, thank you, Mrs. Granger"

"Wonderful." She said. "And… er, what about your– I mean, what do snakes -"

"Please don't concern yourself. I fed her before leaving the house." Harry said. "Although… you wouldn't happen to have any pets here, would you? Perhaps a poodle?"

"No, it's just Crookshanks. Why?"

"Just wondering, Mrs. Granger."

Deidre slithered down the couch and onto the rug.

Crookshanks, a cat with a face only Hermione could love and with enough gumption to tangle with the Whomping Willow, started to back away slowly. And then he turned tail and scampered through the doorway at speed.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Since it was their last weekend before going back to Hogwarts, the Grangers had kindly extended their invitation and their home to their daughter's friends.

Mr. Granger was the sort of dentist that chattered cheerfully at you even though you couldn't answer. He had a penchant for bringing the worst specimens of his work home with him in a little baggie. Needless to say, he and Harveste got along very well.

Diagon Alley was just half an hour away by Knight Bus. Unfortunately, as Harveste smilingly informed them, the entire Addams clan had a standing ban on all forms of normal wizarding transportation, except for school trains and the Mourning Wagon.

On the Mourning Wagon, half an hour was a very long time indeed.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

"Mother has been telling me about the Black family gods non-stop. She really, _really_ wants me to pick one of them." Draco sighed, already weighed down by the amount of books Hermione was pulling off the shelves. There was already a sizable pile at the cash register, with Deidre was sunning herself on the topmost one. The cashier looked like he didn't know whether to be gleeful or be scared shitless.

"Does it matter which god it is?" The bushy-haired girl muttered, straining for a book out of her reach. "It'll all be the same in the end, won't it, especially if its Blo- thanks, Blaise."

Blaise gave her the book and stepped away. Draco sighed gratefully as he took a few titles off the pile in the blond's arms and added them to the ones he was carrying. Still talking, they made their way to the front of the store.

"The gods you choose to serve… It's a two-way street, actually. The gods Themselves choose their followers, if and when They answer the Low Call. Anyway, the choice of god alters the manifestation of your magic and the way you handle it. Most witches and wizards learn wandless magic eventually, though they have more control over the particular affinity of their god." Blaise explained, trying to remember everything his mother had told him. "That's why they give us wands, because that part of us hasn't matured yet."

"It's an utter mess when you come to think of it. There's too much history to make a reasonably good choice in just one year. Greek gods, Slavic gods, Native American gods, Caribbean gods..." Hermione gently poked the Black Mamba with a new quill and it languidly crawled down. "I don't see why there isn't a subject just for this kind of thing at school."

"Because it's something you grow up knowing,” Harveste emerged from behind a bookshelf, silent and sudden. “At least, it is in wizarding families.”

If they hadn't been used to it, they would have jumped out of their skin. As it was, the cashier yelped and tripped over his feet.

Harveste continued as if he hadn’t noticed. "For those who haven't had the luxury of that knowledge, the acting guardian who supervises your magical education should inform you and train you accordingly. That privilege should belong to Dumbledore, although since he doesn't seem to be doing a very good job in regards to Tom, it's too much to expect that he even remembers that particular rule. Or that he even realizes how vulnerable he's making you."

Ever since his first year, Harry's opinion of the Headmaster had not improved. The man was too focused on his failure with Tom, and his fear of the unknown manifested in his disdain of any customs or rituals that he deemed too obscure to be necessary. The Low Call was a natural part of the magical world, but its significance, and indeed those of other pureblood customs, were slowly being forgotten by the public. Dumbledore thought nothing of it, blind to the fact that he was breeding ignorance and leaving the Muggle-borns in his care unprepared. Seeing Hermione, the smartest girl in their year, completely stumped at something she had every right to know-

A shoulder brushed against his at the same time as a hand cupped his elbow.

"Calm down, Harveste. You've scared the cashier."

"Has he fainted?" Draco asked, shifting the books in his arms so he could see around them. "Bloody hell. Kick him awake, Blaise, these damn things are heavy."

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

"I'll have to get a tattoo if I end up with a Slavic god." Draco said, as soon as they had dropped off their books in the Leaky Cauldron. "I wonder if it'll hurt."

Harry reached over Hermione and pinched the blond's arm. Hard.

"Oww! What the hell was that for?"

"You have a low pain tolerance." Harry explained with a smile. "Good to know, darling."

"Why do you have to get a tattoo?" Hermione asked, ignoring their friend's shudder.

"It's just another rite of passage. Some of the pureblood families insist on it when their children turn sixteen. They say it anchors your power, but that's just a myth. It's not a requirement."

"I should say not." Blaise muttered.

"I get the feeling you don't like tattoos." Harry turned his head to look at him. Then he looked up. "My, you've grown taller."

Blaise, who had gotten a growth spurt over the summer and now stood a full head above them, blushed inexplicably.

A corner of Hermione's lips curled upwards. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall."

"Traditionally, sailors were tattooed so that, if they got washed overboard in a storm, their bodies could still be identified, no matter how bloated they became over time." Draco said conversationally. He blinked when they all turned to look at him. "What?"

Harry hid a smile behind his fan. "In any case, Hermione, if you want to follow a tradition to celebrate your Maturity, then you and Draco can get a tattoo together. I like the idea, personally."

"It's an unnecessarily barbaric process." Blaise rolled his eyes. "Of course you like it."

"I prefer branding, actually. It's quicker and it festers beautifully." Harveste corrected with a smile. "But tattooing is very romantic."

Behind him, Draco's jaw dropped. _'He said **what**?_ ' He mouthed incredulously at Hermione.

She shrugged. "Er… what do you mean by that exactly?"

"It's a very intimate act." Harry said. "A sign of undying affection in my family. Why, Father has Mother's initials carved into his leg. He did it by hand, you know."

"Ouch."

"It got infected." Harry said with a happy sigh.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

The Leaky Cauldron prided itself on its plentiful and filling fare, consisting solidly of boiled meat, boiled potatoes, boiled eggs and Brussels sprouts. The group had unequivocally voted for something less binding and had gone looking for other options. Aware that Harveste liked his food a little – a _lot_ on the exotic side, they had managed to steer clear of the little Asian market in Vertique Alley. Unfortunately, they hadn't considered the fact that Hermione, of all people, would have eclectic tastes, so they had let her drag them into a restaurant of her choice. It turned out to be an Indian restaurant.

Blaise discreetly fanned his mouth and reached for his glass. Draco had given up after the first bite and had opted for the plain yogurt instead.

‘Her mouth must be made out of cast iron,’ Blaise thought to himself as he watched the Gryffindor girl talk to Harry over their onion curry. Blaise had gotten a whiff of it when it had arrived at the table and his eyes had started watering.

"But I'll turn sixteen on the nineteenth of September, Harry.” She was saying. “By all rights I should have experienced my Maturity by now."

"Not really, darling." Harry replied. "Think of it like a menstrual period."

Blaise grimaced and put his glass down without drinking.

"Juvenile magic aligns itself to the wavelength of your surrounding peers' magic. So, since we will be going through our Maturity this year, you will too."

"And this Low Call, what does it do, exactly?"

"It's a very personal experience." A wispy sigh of a voice said from behind Draco, who promptly choked on his yogurt. "Many families have a ritual that they use, passed down from generation to generation. You're lucky you get to make your own, Hermione."

Harveste looked down. Hermione had clutched his sleeve before he could move. He smiled to himself. She was getting faster, and she didn't even realize it.

"Luna," Hermione greeted the snowy-haired girl who had eclipsed Draco. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering copies of the Quibbler. They've just been printed. Oh, hello snake."

Deidre had slithered from Harry's collar and down his arm, gun-metal grey against the starched white tablecloth. Now it raised itself up, and started to stare at the newcomer. Predictably, Luna started to stare back.

Blaise would have called it creepy if he hadn't already been exposed to so many other instances. It was perfectly natural to have developed a sort of mental barrier to that sort of thing. He just wished one of them would blink already. Even if it meant someone being pumped full of poison and dying an excruciatingly painful death.

Blaise caught the tail-end of his thought. Three years ago, it would have disturbed him. Now, it was vaguely unsettling that it didn't.

The girl gave in first, of course. No one could out-stare a snake, especially an Addams snake.

"Stop that, Deidre. You've eaten already. Come along and stop bothering that young woman."

The Black Mamba hissed, a tad petulantly in Blaise's mind, but obediently lowered her head and crawled away between the water glasses. To her credit, Luna didn't even blink at the fact that the snake had understood the command even though Harry hadn't spoken in Parseltongue. Then again, Luna Lovegood rarely blinked. Her eyes had the slightly bulgy look of someone who didn't use their eyelids too much because the world was too much of a surprise.

Her large pearly eyes landed on Harry and she cocked her head in a considering manner. "Harveste Addams."

She looked owlishly at him for a moment then handed Hermione a newspaper before leaving, just as silently as she had arrived.

Harveste took another bite of his curry. "What a strange girl."

"If you think she's strange, then something must be seriously wrong with her." Draco said wryly.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

Harry frowned. One did not stay an Addams if one couldn't tell when there was someone following them. An Addams developed a very large sense of personal space early on in life.

Silver shone brightly in the sun for just a moment. There was a yelp, followed by the strong smell of someone's bladder taking its leave. If they weren't halfway down Knockturn Alley, someone would have noticed.

Blaise sighed as he watched his friend approach the effectively restrained stalker. "Harveste, regular people don't just casually pin other people to the wall with sharp objects."

"How flattering of you to think of me as regular." Harry said, smiling at him before turning towards the bandy-legged unshaven tramp that was currently being held off the ground by a very exact outline of knives. "It is not polite to eavesdrop on people, Mundungus Fletcher."

The man quavered. "How d-d'you know my name?"

"I know everyone, Mr. Fletcher. Everyone." Emerald gleamed over the red silk of the Chinese fan. "How is your mother?"

Blaise sighed and took a handkerchief from his pocket. "If you're going to hurt him, Harveste, at least muffle him. The sun's still up and everything."

"W-what? H-hurt… N-no! Please, d-don't-"

"Blaise!" Hermione exclaimed, shocked.

"What? I'm just being practical."

"P-please, _please_ -"

Harry chuckled. "Oh I don't think there's any need for that. You shall tell me all I want to know, won't you, Mr. Fletcher? Starting with why you smell like phoenix."

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

The sun was just setting. They had just finished dinner and Hermione had offered to show them a little bit of the neighborhood before they left for the station in the morning. There was a disagreeable breeze in the twilight air, bringing with it the smell of freshly cut grass and petunias.

"Why on earth is Dumbledore spying on you?" Draco said as they walked. "If he wants the Dark Lord so badly, he can just bugger off and kill him himself, can't he?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to take the chance." Blaise said, shrugging.

"Phoenix… Phoenix… " Hermione was muttering. "I've heard of a group with the phoenix as its mascot, but I just can't remember the name. Maybe it doesn't have anything to do with Dumbledore at all."

"The Headmaster's phoenix is of the particular breed known as the Phoenician Suncrest. They smell like cinnamon, anise, caraway and jasmine." Harry wrinkled his nose delicately. "I would know that odor anywhere. Those people were in contact with Fawkes."

A cold wind started to blow, kicking up discarded newspapers and setting the trees to sighing. Harry pulled out his fan nonchalantly.

"I've got it! The Order of the Phoenix, that's what they're called." Hermione said, pleased with herself. "If they're spying on you, Harry, then they sort of sound like the people in the Rotfang Conspiracy. The Quibbler's always talking about them."

"Is that so? How quaint. Yet another secret society. The Wizarding world is just full of them."

The wind blew harder. Harry spread his fan.

"You might want to duck, darlings."

With a flap of tattered cloaks, twelve Dementors swooped down on them, bringing biting cold and nightmares. They quickly formed a ring around the group, effectively blocking everything out.

Blaise ground his teeth against the screams in his own head and raised his wand. He had had enough of this during his third year.

Hermione grabbed his shoulder. "We can't use magic!" She shouted over the screech of the wind. "We'll get expelled!"

She looked around as something was stuffed into her hand.

"Chew it, but don't swallow!" Draco said, jaw already working.

"This is _gum_!" She exclaimed. "What are we supposed to do with _gum_?"

"Do as I say, that's what!"

Draco fought against the gale and cupped his hands over his mouth. There was a yellow flicker and then a gout of scarlet flame blossomed forth, followed by the spit and crackle of burning bodies.

Hermione's mouth dropped open, but she had no time for surprise. A grayish rotting arm reached out for her and she dodged out of the way. She didn't know what would happen to someone who actually touched a Dementor without some sort of barrier, but she wasn't going to find out today. With her hand wrapped in the edge of her shirt, she caught hold of the arm and pulled sharply while kicking upwards. Then she took the butterfly knife from her pocket.

Blaise's eyes narrowed as two Dementors started to approach him. Thank the gods he had thought to bring his mother's present.

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

"Well you three are certainly a surprise." Harry said, once everything was cleaned up and disposed of. "I hardly had to do anything."

"You shouldn't always have to protect us." Hermione said matter-of-factly. "What was in that gum, Draco?"

"It's a secret." The blond said smugly. "I didn't work at the formula all summer just so I could give it away. Some people don't have to read all the time."

"I don't read _all_ the time."

"Yeah right. I had to send Stygius to get Nimue off you, Hermione. _Stygius_! The bastard nearly tore my ear off!"

Harry smiled as they continued to argue. Stygius was a malicious and foul-tempered eagle owl who only answered to Lucius.

"Harveste."

"Yes, Blaise?"

The mahogany-haired teen slipped a pair of brass knuckles off his fingers and began to wipe them with his handkerchief. "The Dementors are under Ministry control. The only way they could have gotten here was if someone sent them. They want to silence you, stop you from talking about Voldemort."

"I didn't know you were a conspiracy theorist, darling." Harry chuckled. "The Ministry had nothing to do with this attack."

"How can you-"

"One of the Dementors had this pinned to its cowl." He said, opening his hand to reveal a square of green cloth.

Burned into it was an outline of a skull with a snake protruding from its gaping jaws.

"Dear old Tom." Harry smiled. "What a character."

 

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

End of Chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited a few sentences in this one, I hope it gives it better flow... On to the next chapter!
> 
> Also, if anyone is doing the Write31 Challenge by Crystal Stine, huzzah for you, you're in good company ^.^ Let's flex our writing muscles together!

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing, Slash and Het

For those who're going to wonder later on, 'Mmph _mph_ mmph mph mph' means 'That's _so_ much better'. Coz, like, I know you'll be wondering.

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.                                                                                                                                                                               

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Blaise was not pleased.

Not only had he been required to report to the Prefect's carriage on the train, but he had had to sit through an utterly boring forty-five minute reading of all the rules, followed by the list of all Banned Objects, the point system and an in-depth exploratory discussion of patrol routes. He had also had the doubtful privilege of seeing Ronald Weasley try - and fail - to hit on Hermione. It was pathetic to watch, especially since she ignored everything in favor of taking copious notes.

But the worst thing was that Millicent Bulstrode had been the other Slytherin Prefect. She had sat as far away from him as she could without going out the window.

He wasn't Harveste. What the hell was she so afraid of?

Between Dumbledore spying, Voldemort sending Dementors and gods knew what else, and now having to actually sit with one of the Idiot Five _and_ an infatuated Weasley in an enclosed room twice a week… This was promising to be one difficult year. It couldn't get any worse than this.

"We'll patrol the sixth and seventh carriage together then." Hermione said, tying up her hair as they walked back through the train. "And if you give me your class schedule, I can write out a comprehensive timetable-"

"You're not getting your hands anywhere near my class schedule. I've seen what you've done to yours. There's barely enough space for you to breathe."

"You'll change your tune when exams come around." She smiled knowingly. Blaise opened the compartment door for her. "It's our O.W.L.s year, you know. Hello Luna, what're you doing – _Neville?_ Are you alright?"

The shy, slightly overweight boy waved timidly at her from next to Harveste, who was drinking tea. Or what looked like tea. The air smelled a little bit like a stable, with definite hints of manure.

"I w-was looking for Trevor." He quavered by way of explanation. "W-when I g-got here, the snake had just-"

"Circle of life, dear. We managed to get most of him out." Harry said, patting the trembling toad on his lap. One of the legs looked shorter than the other and an eye had filmed over. "He's a cane toad, did you know?"

"How was your first Prefects meeting?" Draco asked Blaise. _The Volume of Complete and Annotated Mammalian Vivisection_ lay open on his lap. Luna was looking at it through the eyeholes cut in her newest edition of the Quibbler.

"Put me out of my misery." Blaise muttered, slumping down beside him.

"As you wish, darling."

Blaise raised his book bag just in time. The _senbon_ thudded deep into the leather. "It was rhetorical, Harveste."

"I aim to please." Harry smiled around his cup. Beside him, the _mimbulus mimbletonia_ quivered. "Now, what shall we do to pass the time?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"It's all in the wrist." Harveste said.

Hermione gripped the handle of her Licorice Whip, took a breath and aimed at the Cauldron Cake balanced on Draco's head.

"Mmph!" Draco said, his eyes flashing over the green-and-silver tie that had been used to gag him. "Mmph mmph!"

"I-is it really safe f-for her to be doing that?" Neville asked. He had hidden behind his bulbous warty plant once Hermione had brought up the idea of target practice, but now he peered around it, vaguely interested.

"Not yet, but she'll get better." Blaise said absently as he perused the Quibbler. "Interesting…er-articles, Luna."

"Imagine you're holding a very light dagger," instructed Harveste. "And your enemy is more than six feet away."

"Mm-mm-mmph?"

"I meant 'target', darling."

"Mmph _mph_ mmph mph mph."

Strawberry licorice whipped through the air, followed by a sharp _crack_. The cushion to the left of Draco's head tore open and began to hemorrhage stuffing.

"Mm-mph mph!"

"Less power and allow for the movement of the train. I know you'll get the hang of it, darling. It's only too bad that Wednesday couldn't teach you herself. She's gotten quite good at it. I've never been one for whipping, myself." Harry topped his cup up with something that was either vodka or paint thinner. " _Being_ whipped, on the other hand- Draco, are you alright?"

A spluttering cough was his only answer.

Another licorice-scented flicker snapped through the compartment. Draco, who had just gotten over his fit of coughing while freeing himself from his necktie, made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a wail as he felt the caramel Cauldron filling seep into his hair.

Harry blinked, just as surprised as Hermione and Blaise, as Luna Lovegood began to coil her own Licorice Whip back into the shape of a figure eight. She noticed them staring at her and offered them a vague half-smile. Then she went back to threading Butterbeer corks.

"Luna," Hermione started, her curiosity getting the best of her. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Crumple-horned Snorkacks mate during hurricane season." Luna said in her floaty, haunting voice. "Learning how to handle a whip is a must if we ever want a chance to study them."

"Oh. Really?"

"My _hair_ ," Draco moaned, lost in his own little world as he tried to scrape away the worst of the sticky goo with a corner of his robe.

An icy touch trailed over his cheek for a moment, and he looked up into green eyes that were suddenly way too close. Then Harveste licked the dark smear off his fingertips and Draco's heart stuttered to a halt.

"I do so hate caramel." Harry said, making a face as the sweet taste prickled over his tongue.

"Why did you taste it then?" A smiled tugged at Hermione's lips when she took note of the white knuckles that gripped the Quibbler. "Stop whining, Draco. Just use _Evanesco_."

The blonde shook himself out of his funk to glare at her. "On my _hair_? Are you _mad_?"

"You can be such a drama queen." She sighed and stood up. "Up you get, then. We'll wash it out. Oh, and…um, Luna, when we come back, you wouldn't mind teaching me a couple of things, would you?"

The Ravenclaw seemed to come down from her cloud for a moment, and she looked at Hermione like she had never seen her before. "You really mean it?"

"Of course. It's not very often that I get to know something before Harry. I need all the help I can get."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The _mimbulus mimbletonia_ was a notoriously cantankerous and unpredictable plant. Reportedly, as soon as it was touched, it would explode purely out of spite. That was one of the reasons it was so rare. No one liked discovering anything that covered them in fetid pus.

All Harveste had to do was caress the top of one shivering boil. It had shuddered violently for a moment before one of its protuberances curved downward, rather like a teapot, and began to drip slowly. He had taken a cupful then disappeared out the door to take Deidre for a walk.

Neville was still looking at the quiescent plant when Hermione sat next to him. "I've never read of anyone controlling a _mimbulus mimbletonia_ before. It's really fascinating."

"Harry's got a lot of… talent in making things go his way."

Draco snorted from the other side of the compartment, still toweling his hair off.

"Anyway, Neville, what are you doing here? Don't you usually sit on the other side of the train?"

"I was looking for Trevor. And…well, I was thinking. A-about You-Know-Who."

"What are you thinking about the Dark Lord for?" Blaise asked, looking over at them from the top of the newspaper.

"H-he, w-well…" The Gryffindor looked warily at his Housemate. "Dumbledore came to our house this summer. H-he said some… t-things."

"That man's been doing his rounds. Nosy old twinkler."

"Shut up, Blaise." Hermione said. "What did he say?"

"Just s-some things…"

The compartment door rattled open.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the little group of Mudblood-lovers."

Neville's hands tightened reflexively around the pot. The plant squeaked, but did not explode. It did, however, seem to turn towards the door, where Daphne Greengrass stood, flanked by Montague, Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode.

"I see you've added Loony Luna and a Squib to your motley crew. Everything that's wrong with wizarding society is right here." She sneered.

"This compartment has two Prefects, Greengrass." Blaise said in a bored tone, now reading the Quibbler upside-down to decipher the runes. "And you have just one. I know simple maths is a bit of a stretch for your brain cell, but two is always better than one."

"Suck on a Mandrake, Zabini."

There was a _snap_ and a high-pitched whine. The wood by Daphne's ear suddenly splintered.

"Look at that, I _am_ getting better." Hermione wound the whip around her hand, her usually placid gaze now hammered on the Slytherin girl's shocked ones. "The train moves around so much that it's hard to predict what I'll hit. I might end up putting someone's eye out."

"Why don't you use your wands like real wizards?" Daphne growled. "Or can't you? _Flam-_ "

"Twenty points from Slytherin!" Blaise snapped, finally standing up. Hermione and Draco moved closer to him, putting both Luna and Neville behind them. "You'll get out of here, Greengrass, if you know what's good for you."

"You can't take points, Zabini. We're not in school yet." She sneered.

Goyle darted forward suddenly, his fist swinging through the air.

There was another _snap_ , a bit thicker this time, a flash of white and the smell of Draco's favorite shampoo. Goyle stumbled backwards into Montague, a red welt forming on his face.

Draco resumed folding his towel with a tiny smirk of his own. "Didn't see you there, Greg, sorry."

"You're all mad," Daphne hissed angrily. "Just you wait. You'll know what's what by the time this year is over. We're under new management now."

"Promises, promises, Daphne." Harveste had materialized directly behind the hulking behemoth that was Montague. From the front, much to Hermione's satisfaction, Daphne looked like she had swallowed her tongue. "Hello Graham, Gregory, Millicent."

They slowly turned around. The Black Mamba raised her head from around Harveste's neck and opened its mouth in an angry hiss.

"She gets more and more repetitive every year," Draco said as soon as she had gone. "I would have made a better bully."

"Sorry you had to see that, Luna, Neville." Hermione sighed, sitting down again. Outside the compartment, Harry waggled his fingers goodbye after his snake, who was slithering off in the direction that the Slytherins had ran.

"I-it's alright." Neville smiled wistfully at her. "You know, he's not as b-bad as everybody says he is."

"Who, Dumbledore?"

"N-no. I meant H-Harveste."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harry rubbed the marble-like skin of the Thestral's head and pulled a slightly bloody package from his pocket. His nightly trips to the Forbidden Forest always resulted in a bit more than he could eat in one sitting, and the Thestrals had gotten used to him feeding them by now. He was looking forward to running with them again.

"Your friends are nice." Luna said from behind him. She stepped forward when the Thestral nickered at her and started to scratch its wing joints. "Hermione is a quick learner."

Harveste smiled and offered her the opened packet. She took a strip of the bloody meat without flinching.

"You continually surprise me, Ms. Lovegood."

"I've heard that it's impossible to surprise an Addams. Except with small cuddly things."

"I wouldn't say that. Your Lord Voldemort has surprised me once or twice."

Her silvery eyes gazed at him unblinkingly. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is everyone's Lord Voldemort."

"Dear Tom," The Thestral snapped at his fingers and he offered it another strip. "He's not so bad."

"He's a mad despot who was responsible for the worst tortures and the most killings in the war."

"Just like the kings and queens of old then."

"You're not going to help him, are you?" She asked suddenly.

Harry stopped feeding the Thestral and arched an eyebrow as he looked at her. Now that he thought about it, there were probably some people who thought that he would be joining the Dark Fold. Perhaps that was why Dumbledore was sending Aurors to spy on him. "That's quite the question, Ms. Lovegood. I'm sure it weighs on many a mind now, which side of this war to fight on."

Luna looked a bit like his Mother, he decided. It was the way their features seemed to sharpen when they focused on someone. He took a deep breath. She didn't smell like Fawkes.

He held her gaze for a moment before inclining his head slightly. "I do not support Tom and his schemes, but I have no intentions of blindly following Dumbledore either."

Luna smiled, and her face took on that vaguely hazy look once more. "Well, it's always the Blibbering Humdingers that suffer in wars. It's to do with their toes, you know."

"Your kindness to animals does you credit." Harry said politely. He patted the Thestral again and looked into its haunted black eyes.

_A still form, something slithering away off the crumpled bedsheets… mistletoe… a snake… a swamp… a stormy-grey sky with people like ants cheering below… bright flashes of light…_

"It's never just a cup of tea anymore." Harry sighed to himself. The Thestral nudged his shoulder. "What was that, Ms. Lovegood?"

"Blibbering Humdingers aren't really animals." The girl said, oblivious to the world once more. "They're more like a cross between a Puffapod and a turtle with a lisp."

"How interesting."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Where do you suppose that giant has gone?" Draco asked Blaise as he scanned the row of teachers. "Because if that Grubbly-Plank woman brings in another unicorn for lessons, I don't think I can take that class anymore."

Blaise said nothing. He was busy staring at a very fuzzy pink woman at the Head Table. She looked vaguely familiar.

"What did I miss, darlings?"

Draco didn't have to move to make space for Harveste. The bench they always sat on had space enough for three people on each side.

"Just the Sorting. And Hagrid's gone."

"That's strange. I hope he didn't take the Skrewts with him. I do miss Bellpepper."

The Bloody Baron floated by them. "I hope I find you well, Mr. Addams?"

"Certainly, Baron Alain." The brunette said politely. "Did you have a pleasant summer?"

"Quiet as a grave." The ghost said solemnly. "Your Head of House has asked me to inform you to report to his chambers before dinner."

"His chambers?" Harry's eyes narrowed for a moment before clearing. "How… illicit."

Draco made a face. "Harveste, that's my _godfather_ you're talking about."

"Don't worry, darling. I'll leave him in as good a condition as I found him."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

' _He's gone to see Snape._ ' Draco mouthed to a curious Hermione, who had just watched their friend drift out the door. "What do you think he wants with Harveste, Blaise?"

"I'm sure I have no idea. _Who_ is that woman? I've seen her somewhere before…"

"We are delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" Dumbledore said in his Jolly Old Grandfather way. "And now, tryouts for the-"

"Umbridge!" Blaise's eyes widened in recognition. "She's a Ministry pen-pusher. Not even my mother likes her."

"What's she doing here then?"

"I don't know, but it must not be good. My mother likes _everybody_."

"Hem, hem."

"Maybe she's here to investigate Dumbledore's infinite supply of lemon drops." Draco said, brushing his still-damp hair out of his eyes to see better. "Or maybe Fudge kicked her out for wearing that cardigan."

"-such happy little faces-"

"Perhaps she's mad, like Trelawney." Blaise smirked.

They both had double helpings of dinner and took their time with dessert, but Umbridge kept on talking. And talking.

And _talking_.

The first years were already nodding off. Blaise reached across the table and flicked one on the forehead.

"-progress for progress' sake must be discouraged – tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering-"

"You see how she doesn't stop to take a drink." Draco sighed, his chin propped up on his palm. Only utter boredom would make him display such crass manners. Then he sat up. "Look at Hermione."

The brown-haired girl was staring very hard at Umbridge. Blaise could practically see the thundercloud forming above her head. "She looks pissed."

"Dumbledore doesn't look so jolly now either."

"-let us move forward, then-"

"Gods, please, _let's_."

"-pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."

"I'm going to kill her bloody ghost writer." Draco muttered. "That was one of the most pointless speeches I’ve ever heard, and Father usually makes me listen to Wizarding law briefs."

Blaise stood up as they were dismissed. ”Imagine, we have a whole year of _that_ to look forward to. Alright, first years, line up."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Severus Snape glared at the young man sitting coolly in his office. Ever since Harveste Addams had come back from the third Triwizard challenge, the Dark Mark had steadily grown more and more uncomfortable. It only served to confirm what the boy had said: Lord Voldemort was back, and he was calling all his followers.

There was no telling how angry he was that his only Potions Master hadn't returned to the fold. But Harveste had made it very clear that if Snape were to return, he would be killed.

He didn't know which was worse: to go back to the service of a madman who tortured at whim, or to remain in Hogwarts and suffer the myriad of sexual diseases that a perpetually smiling Addams could conjure up.

"If the Dark Lord knows that I am a spy, he will not hesitate to kill me." He began in his clipped, precise tones. "Though I suspect that will be the least of my worries."

"Why would he kill you when he could use you first?" Harveste smiled. "And then when you expire, I imagine he will reanimate your corpse and have his naughty little way with you."

The Potions Master grimaced at the mental picture and resisted the urge to vomit. "The Dark Lord is many things, Addams, but he is not a necrophiliac."

"I did not mean to imply that he was." The boy said, insolence in every word. "Only that he would use you against your will as an Inferi. Lucius Malfoy knows much about the workings of the Dark Lord."

"What would _you_ know of Lucius Malfoy?" Severus snapped.

"As my Draco's father, we have met on occasion. We've spoken about certain things, about his...concern for Draco's wellbeing during these troubling times." The boy said simply. Snape took note of the possessive determiner and frowned even more. "And you are Draco's godfather. I would imagine you would have the same concerns, and yet you stink of phoenix and lemon drops."

They stared each other down, or at least Snape tried to. Harry just blinked languidly and smiled in his inscrutable way.

Severus cleared his throat when it became apparent that the Addams was content with the silence stretching on."The Headmaster has authorized me to teach you Occlumency, starting tomorrow." He said with a disparaging sniff. "We will meet thrice a week for your lessons."

"With respect, sir, I do not need lessons in mind magic."

"Don't be preposterous. You are a child, and no matter what you think, there are always new things to learn."

"I certainly agree. However, in this instance, Professor, there is little you could impart that my grandmother has not already shown me. I can read you, if you like."

The Slytherin Head glowered at him. Over-confident little upstart, just like his father… "Very well," he said without thinking.

Harveste suddenly leaned forward, his pale face looming like a gibbous moon. His green eyes glowed with a sort of inner fire, and Snape found himself unwillingly hypnotized. _Something_ entered his mind, a chilly insidious touch that was painfully gentle and not at all as he would have imagined. It slipped past his blocks, going not down to where his deepest memories were buried, but around and through the mist that he had always called on to deceive the Dark Lord. There was a sensation of flying, of aimlessness, of tempered darkness.

The intrusion was as light as a feather and yet he could feel his memories gravitating towards it, like mice towards a mousetrap.

It was disconcerting, confusing, so unlike any other Legilimens attempt that he had ever encountered.

Harveste blinked, and the connection was cut. For a moment, his eyes were luminescent, pupils slitted like a snake's.

"You live in Spinner's End,” The boy said quietly. “Alone, no pets, no household help. You prefer your tea with a squeeze of lemon and a sprig of dittany. You graduated at the top of your Potions and Charms class before joining the Death Eaters. Before the War, you dreamt of studying for your Potions Mastery abroad. You were friends with Remus Lupin, once. Dumbledore wishes you to spy on me so that he can make sure that I will not join up with Tom. You fear that I shall join Tom regardless. And you are in love with Lily Potter nee Evans."

Snape blinked. It looked like port wouldn't be cutting it tonight. His eyes narrowed. "I am still your Professor, Addams. Have a care."

Harveste looked at him appraisingly and seemed to come to a decision. "It seems I am part of this war whether I like it or not. But I shall not be controlled. You may tell Dumbledore that, sir. And if he requires my services, I will present him with a bill."

"A _bill_? You want to get _paid_ for saving the world?"

"Certainly, Professor. University isn't free, you know, and I have plans for higher education after Hogwarts." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a green square of cloth. "You may have this as a token of goodwill. I am sure Tom will be sending me more this year."

Snape was a hardened and bitter man, but he felt his heart drop to his stomach when he saw the Dark Mark charred onto the fabric. "What on earth-? The _Dark Lord_ has been sending you these, Addams?"

"Just the one so far. You should be proud of your godson, sir. He's the one that killed the Dementor who delivered it."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harveste was late for breakfast the next morning and he joined up with Blaise and Draco halfway to Divination. They didn't need to ask him where he'd been. The night before had been the dark of the moon.

"Bloody fumes." Blaise coughed after they had ascended the stairs. "Doesn't she ever air this place out?"

Draco obligingly cracked open a window then settled down on a chintzy pillow to read. He had taken the cover of his copy of _The Dream Oracle_ and put it over his _Mammalian Vivisection_. Trelawney wouldn't notice anything. She rarely did.

She drifted among them now like a gauzy praying mantis, talking to the excessively perfumed air.

"-if you have the Seeing Eye, certificates and grades matter very little-"

"That explains why she's our teacher then." said Blaise waspishly.

Trelawney finished her speech and dreamily paired them up. Harveste ended up partnered with Lysette Thickey, and he obligingly moved to sit with her. All her friends automatically moved away.

"So, what do you dream about?" Blaise asked.

"Cutting open Daphne's face." Draco said promptly, not looking up from his book. "And stuffing it full of snakes."

"What a coincidence. Me too."

A few tables down, Lysette began to sob hysterically. Professor Trelawney hurried over in a clash of bangles.

"Whatever's the matter, dear?"

"He- he-"

"Addams?" The Professor said, her wisp of a voice suddenly turning sharp.

"I was simply telling her about my dream, Professor. Eating puppies is to be expected during the zombie apocalypse."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

In Draco's opinion, Harveste was acting decidedly odd. Well, odder than usual.

Like how he had half a plate of roast potatoes at lunch without pouring something odious over it, and how he didn't put a _senbon_ through the heart of the lovebird who delivered Wednesday's letter.

He even volunteered to partner up with Longbottom during Potions, and when Snape had expounded on all the things that could were sure to go wrong, he hadn't smiled _once_.

The Gryffindors had all started whispering, of course, and Neville had started shaking so badly that he dropped his wand.

It wasn't as if Professor Snape made it easier. The first potion they were assigned was the Draught of Peace, an absolutely finicky headache of a potion, and Draco should know, as he had been brewing it for his father ever since Harveste had come to visit.

The blind idiocy on the face of Goyle and the appalling sneer on Montague's face were sights to behold. He didn't know if it was even worth playing on the Slytherin team again with two such unreliable backstabbers. It was patently obvious that they were brewing something in their cavernous excuses for skulls, and if Draco had been the whiny tattletale he used to be, he would've told on them to Snape.

Instead, he watched as Harveste patiently coached the trembling Neville through every single step. He was doing unexpectedly well, in fact. Slowly, silver steam arose from a few cauldrons, Draco's and Hermione's among them, signaling that they were nearly finished. It looked as though this day would be explosion-free.

And then Neville sneezed, causing all the porcupine quills he had been holding to fall into his potion. The Draught of Peace only required one quill.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Blaise gingerly touched the side of his head, where a ballistic mortar had made its mark. He was actually very lucky to get away with just a bruise. Longbottom, Harper, Davis, and Weasley had to be taken to the infirmary because they had been too close to ground zero. Their snores had been so loud, spiders had fallen from the rafters. Harveste, of course, had come out of it unscathed.

Late night patrols, he was coming to discover, were somewhat of a bore. Even Peeves wasn't up to much of anything at this time of night, and the only sound he could hear was the clanking of the suits of armor as they settled down for a nap.

And Draco, who was muttering to himself under Lady Malfoy's Invisibility Cloak.

"What's the use of being invisible of you're going to natter on all the time?"

"This is our O.W.L.s year." The hidden blond said, as if that explained everything.

"So they say. Hello, Hermione. What's got you all bothered?"

Their friend stomped up to them, the look on her face so thunderous that Blaise could almost hear the lightning. "It's that troll of a woman, that's what! That Umbridge! Oooh, I could just- I could just-"

Draco's concerned head popped out of thin air. "What's she done?"

"What's she done? _What's_ she _done_?"

"Yes, Herm." Blaise said soothingly, putting his arm around her and guiding her into a nearby stairwell. "We haven't had Defense yet, so we don't know. We spent our afternoon listening to Harveste talk to the Fanged Geraniums in Herbology."

If anything, Hermione seemed to inflate even more. "She's absolutely horrible! When she talks, it's as if she thinks she's the cutest little girl in the world. It's so _annoying_. And she's got these _rules_ , and we've to put our wands away and _read_ for the entire lesson!"

"Sounds no worse than Binns then." Draco said, settling down on a stone step. "And you love reading."

It was weird to see his pale face bobbing like a balloon in the dark stairwell. Blaise resisted the urge to prick him with a pin to see if he would burst.

"You don't understand. Defense Against the Dark Arts is something you _do,_ even I know that," Hermione frowned. "You can't just _talk_ about it. All she'll do is make us study theory and we'll only be able to do the spells on the exam day itself. It'll completely ruin my chances for an Outstanding in Defense!"

The two boys looked at each other.

"Would it be so bad if you just got an Acceptable…?"

" _Yes_." She said with a convincing growl, and Blaise hurriedly raised his hands in surrender.

"Don't bite our heads off, Hermione. We're not Umbridge."

"You'll see what I mean tomorrow." With a long sigh, she seemed to diminish, leaning against Draco's invisible body for support. "Where's Harry?"

"Probably out in the Forest somewhere."

"I've been thinking about that, you know, now that we're prefects. He might get in trouble."

"He's got both Dumbledore and Voldemort after him. How much more trouble can he get into?" Draco pointed out. "Besides, when have you ever seen him follow the rules?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The slightest curve of the moon was visible tonight, if one knew where to look, and the breeze had the dying bite of autumn.

From the roof of the Divination Tower, in the shadow of a gargoyle, Harry watched benevolently as his friends walked past. He couldn't see Draco, but it was almost a certainty that he was there. These days, he and Blaise were practically joined at the hip.

In the darkness, something flapped past his face.

"Here you are, Helena, a nice pigeon."

The Thestral snuffled at the still-struggling feathery bundle before biting suddenly, ripping off the head, the right wing and a good portion of the body.

"I can see you haven't been fed. What _has_ Hagrid been doing?"

Another gulp and the pigeon was gone. Harry let the spear-like tongue lap at the last traces of blood as he looked up into the night sky.

_A long dark corridor… a cave with a lake… a gaping sore, stitches melting in the wake of yellow poison… someone falling off their chair…owls upon owls upon owls, crowding in…_

A thump beside him signaled the arrival of yet another Thestral.

The gaunt, eerie-white horses were much maligned in the Wizarding world. No one knew how powerful they were, the strength they had in them, the raw power. No one knew that the cloaks made from their pelts were better than any Demiguise hair, that their newborn foals could sing as sweetly as any sea siren, that they carried visions of the future in their eyes. Instead, they were feared because they symbolized death, hidden away, made to pull carriages and _tamed_. A wild Thestral would never have eaten out of his hand; it would have _eaten_ his hand.

He would probably never understand why Tom wanted dominion of this place. The people here were small and weak, afraid of shadows, afraid of fear. He wasn't blind. The newspapers were full to bursting with their audacious headlines. People had stared more than usual on the train station, and the students whispered amongst themselves in the corridors. They said he was mad and dangerous and a liar.

Well, two out of three wasn't that bad.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Hermione had had a lot of choice words for Umbridge, including 'supercilious windbag', 'dithering pink monstrosity' and 'horrid old toad'.

'Boring old toad' was more like it. Blaise hadn't thought it was possible to fall asleep during Defense Against the Dark Arts, but here he was, nodding off over his textbook. The rest of the class, both Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, were in a sort of soporific blank-eyed gaze as they tried to make sense of the same tedious paragraphs. Their new Defense Professor was hugely unlikeable by anyone's standards, except to brown-nosing suck-ups like Daphne Greengrass, who had no standards at all.

"-such a _relief_ that you're here, Professor. The other teachers we've had were just _so_ -"

"She might as well just kneel down and grovel in front of her." Draco muttered out of the corner of his mouth. His book was propped up on the desk to hide his face, and when he tilted his head, Blaise saw what looked like a cross-section of a horse on one page.

"-father's restaurant chain, thanks to the Minister. I'm sure he-"

"This is as bad as Lockhart's class."

"Do you have something to say there, young man? I'd like you to raise your hand if you do."

For a moment, a mischievous look appeared on Draco's face, and then it was gone. He raised his hand and plastered on the world's most insincere smile. "Of course, miss. If you'd be so kind, miss."

Blaise covered his mouth to hide his grin.

"I'd like to ask when we'll be able to actually practice the spells, please."

"There will be no need to do the spells, my dear." Umbridge said. "And you are?"

"Draco Malfoy, Professor."

"A Malfoy?" She said. Then, to Blaise's horror, she started to titter like a schoolgirl. "Your father's been such a help to us in the Ministry."

"Has he now?"

Harry, who had been sitting at the very end of the classroom and stitching a three-headed doll for Pubert, now leaned forward in interest.

"Yes, of course! His generous donations, his unequivocal support of the Minister, all are very much appreciated. I am one of your mother's oldest friends, you know."

"Indeed?" Draco said, looking very like Lucius at that moment. "That’s quite an accomplishment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of her tea parties though..."

"Oh, I’ve never been invited-"

" _Really_. Well, that’s certainly curious.” Draco cocked his head in what Blaise considered an exceedingly Harveste-like manner. “We held a luncheon before school started, and _all_ of Mother’s friends were there. She wouldn’t have left anyone _important_ out. Are you _sure_ my mother knows you?"

Now Umbridge looked nonplussed, her pouchy eyes blinking in disbelief. Blaise knew what she had been thinking. Slytherins were social climbers who would do anything to get to the top. He would have to check the school records to confirm what he suspected, but all the signs pointed to Umbridge being a Slytherin.

"Why aren't we practicing the spells, Professor? We have a practical exam on this sort of thing for our O.W.L.s, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to compromise your students' intellectual growth in anyway." Devilish glee danced in Draco's eyes. "What would the parents say if they knew?"

"This is a Ministry-approved program-"

"So they have approved the decision to make us all helpless, is that it?"

More and more students were looking up now, wondering what was going on.

"Helpless? Why ever would you say that, my dear?" said Umbridge in her most glutinous way. "If you'll just read your book-"

"My father is a school governor. I am within my rights to ask questions concerning my course of study."

"If you'll just lower your voice-"

"Why, is there something you don’t want the rest of the class to know? Are you hiding something?"

"Well, well, we _are_ opinionated, aren't we?" She said, her voice suddenly syrupy. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mister Malfoy."

"You haven't answered my question, Professor. Are you or the Ministry hiding something?"

Umbridge swept by him with a superior little smile. She walked up the aisle between the tables and folded her hands in front of her. "Listen to me, all of you. This year's course of study will be purely on theory. There will be no need for dangerous and unnecessary spellwork in my classroom. There is no need to practice at all, no need for undue risk. The outside world is just as safe as Hogwarts, the Ministry assures it."

"If it's so safe, then there's actually no need for a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, is there?"

"Ten points from Slytherin again, Mister Malfoy." said Umbridge without looking around. "And you will kindly raise your hand if you have a question."

Draco had never been one for rules either. "So what you're saying is-"

"Hand, please." She said, talking over him and promptly ignoring his hand when it was thrust into the air. "I believe there will be no more talking today."

"I think what Draco is trying to say, Professor, is that, by your own admission, both your post and your presence is utterly useless and entirely dispensable."

The quiet whispering that had been going on suddenly ceased at the familiar pleasant tone of one Harveste Addams. Everybody turned to look at the back row, and those that were sitting there edged away from the darkly amused figure.

"What is your name, child?" Umbridge said softly, a thread of steel in her honeyed voice. "Stand up there, so I can see your face."

 _And so I can be sure exactly who to punish_ , was the unspoken threat.

The sound of the chair scraping backwards on the stone floor was so unremarkable as to be easily ignored. But then again, Blaise thought, so was the sound of a match flaring to life in Wednesday's hands.

"As you wish." Harveste smiled benignly. "But I thought you would remember me. It's been much too long, Aunt Dolly."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

.

.

…

End of Chapter


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited a few more sentences PLUS I added a bit more history for Blood magic. The writing front has been quite slow, but I plan to remedy that next week. Happy weekend, my blood-letters!

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing, Slash and Het

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

" _Aunt_ _Dolly_?" Hermione exclaimed. "You mean to say that you're _related_ to that… to that… terrible woman?"

They were sitting by the lake after classes. For his cheek in Defense that morning, Harveste had gotten a whole week's worth of detention and had been sent to deliver the letter to his Head of House. Snape, who usually gave Harry detention twice a month, had looked at the pink-colored notice and cracked a smile for the first time in _years_.

"We're not directly related." Harry said now, smiling at his friend's look of disdain. "Her younger sister, Madeleine, married Tropeço, Lurch's cousin from Brazil. I think you met him at the reunion last year."

"I didn't know Lurch was an Addams." Draco said.

"He's _part_ Addams."

"Which part?" Hermione, who had gotten used to the family's peculiar turn of phrase, asked suspiciously.

"His heart and three feet of intestine. Possibly a kidney." Harry said, without missing a beat. "But an Addams is an Addams. I don't think Aunt Dolly remembers me though. The last time I saw her was seven years ago. There was an almighty row because Aunt Madeleine was born unable to use magic and Tropeço, due to a technicality at the time, couldn't use magic either."

"Umbridge's sister is a Squib? _Owww,_ Hermione!"

"We don't use that term, Draco." She said primly, rubbing the feeling back into her knuckles. "Go on, Harry."

"Aunt Dolly doesn't like non-magical folk, or halfbloods, or other races that could potentially threaten the dominance of wizardkind. Come to think of it, she's very like Tom." Harry chuckled quietly to himself, which was never a good sign. "I've got a picture of Tropeço somewhere… oh, here we are. That's him, the one with the fish hook."

The three friends crowded around the yellowing photo. It wasn't so much a fish hook as it was an anchor, and it was sticking out of his stomach in a way that spelled 'terminal infection'. Blaise turned the picture over.

"It says here that he died in 1973."

"That was the technicality. He was all better by the time they went on their honeymoon. Upright and hungry anyway."

"That's… er…"

"It is such a pity, you know." sighed Harry, a touch despondently. "Aunt Dolly is almost the most unrepentantly cold-hearted, power-hungry sadist in the world. Mother and she would have been great friends."

"Well, Umbridge has obviously never heard of nepotism." said Hermione, determined to make her point. "A week's worth of detention for saying what everyone else is thinking anyway, it's absolutely ridiculous! _And_ she's the Minister's undersecretary. I've checked her records and she's never even done a teaching apprenticeship, which means the Ministry is definitely interfering in Hogwarts."

"What for?" Blaise and Draco asked at the same time.

"It's blatantly obvious what she was sent here to do. She said so herself. Weren't you two listening to her speech at the Sorting Feast?"

"Too long. Eventually we had to get on with our lives."

“You _understood_ all that? Amazing.”

"She's to keep an eye on Dumbledore, and on Harry as well. You remember Fudge's face last year, don't you? He didn't believe that the Dark Lord was back at all!"

"He's a bloody idiot, everybody knows that."

"Yes, but he's the bloody idiot who's our Minister. And that toad Umbridge answers to him-Harry, what _are_ you doing? This is serious."

A _senbon_ glinted under the fading sunlight. Harry was using it to probe the air in his cupped left hand. It looked like he was eating something, but there was absolutely nothing there.

For once, Blaise was quicker on the uptake than she was. "Those are the Vanished snails from Transfiguration, aren't they?"

"Premium _helix pomatia._ They're quite good. Would you like one?"

"They're not _cooked_ , Harveste."

"So?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Today was the first day of Harveste Addams' detention, and Dolores had prepared herself mentally. She would not give into her baser urges that were crying out for her to _Crucio_ the odious spawn into submission. A slower torture would be more effective.

Ever since Maddie had married into that horrible family and estranged herself from proper company, Dolores Umbridge had been plotting to get rid of them. As practitioners of Blood Magic, in and of itself a base and corrupting influence, the Addams family were lower than low, worse than Muggles and Mudbloods, more unnatural than the halfbreed filth that were overrunning Britain. No self-respecting witch or wizard could allow such creatures to breed unchecked. They were barely human. And as for this so-called Harveste-

Someone knocked on her door and she clasped her hands together to contain the sudden throb of panic. She still hadn't gotten over That Time. "Come in."

The abomination – a _boy_ in _girl's clothing_ , it was _completely_ unnatural – stepped into her office and shut the door. "Hello Aunt Dolly."

"You will address me as Professor Umbridge, child." She said, masking her annoyance with an insincere smile. "I believe you are inappropriately dressed for your detention today."

"Am I? Did I need my own manacles? Should I go get them?"

"What? No!" She frowned, remembering the ghastly family's numerous eccentricities. "I meant your… choice of dress, child. Which is a dress. And you are of the male persuasion. This indecency is not to be permitted. Please go change and-"

"I'm afraid I must correct you on that point, Professor." He said with an insubordinate smile. "Educational Decree Number Fourteen, as written by the Headmistress Dame Phyllida Spore, states that Hogwarts students must wear their choice of the Male Summer Uniform, the Male Winter Uniform, the Female Summer Uniform, or the Female Winter Uniform during class, study group, assigned detentions and all school outings that take place on a weekday. Educational Decree Number Fifteen, as written by Headmaster Newton Scamander during the unseasonably warm winter of 1936, is in accordance with Decree Number Fourteen and furthermore states that any student of Hogwarts may wear whichever uniform they choose if it conforms to the regulation measurements. As you can see, my skirt is regulation length for the Female Winter Uniform, so my choice of dress is perfectly appropriate."

"That does not mean that you are allowed to wear the Female uniform!"

"It does not say that I cannot."

With every word, Dolores' face had gotten stonier and stonier. Inside though, she wanted nothing more than to slap the audacity out of him. How _dare_ he, speaking to her as if he was her equal. She was the Senior Undersecretary, second only to the Minister, and he was a nothing but a student. Well, he would stop smiling soon enough once the Minister made her the High Inquisitor.

"Sit down please. I would like you to write some lines for me."

The Blood Quill's sharp tip gleamed nastily in the light. She allowed herself a small triumphant sneer when he took it.

"I would like you to write 'I must not speak back to my betters'."

"And how many times would you like me to write it, Professor?" He asked politely.

"As many times as possible so that the message really _sinks_ _in_."

Dolores did not usually stand around when the first sentence was written. Just the slightest intake of breath from a shocked and pained student was all the vindication she needed. But from an Addams, she needed much, much more. The dark red writing glowed wetly for a second before disappearing and slicing itself into the back of the abomination's hand. He gasped.

"Oh, Professor, this is a Blood Quill! I haven't used one in years!"

He was unconscionable! She narrowed her eyes and went back to her table where she could keep an eye on him. "There will be no talking, Addams."

Half an hour later, he hadn't uttered a peep and was actually writing faster.

At nine in the evening, four hours after he had started, he was still smiling.

At ten, which was when most students started crying, he had spread the affected hand on the table and was actually admiring it as he wrote.

_Disgusting little monster._

A bit after midnight, there was another knock on her door. It was one of the Slytherin Prefects, a handsome, dark-haired boy with deep blue eyes.

He bowed respectfully to her. "Professor Umbridge."

He really was _very_ handsome, and quite tall too - not as tall as Maddie's abhorrent husband, of course – and his hair was actually a deep brown under the light. "May I help you?" She said coyly, batting her eyelashes.

"It's twelve-thirty a.m., Professor. I've come to escort Harveste back to our House."

"I'm sure there is no need for that. I assume Addams can manage to return on his own."

The student bowed again, keeping his eyes on his floor in what she deemed a respectable manner. "Professor Snape insists that all students in detention be escorted to his chambers afterwards for a little more… reinforcement."

She smiled at the implication. Perhaps she had found an ally in Severus Snape. "Very well. Addams, come here."

The freakish thing gave her a smile and stood up languidly. When he gave her his hand, she looked at it. It was slightly pink just behind the knuckles, but it was as cold as ice and there were no other signs that he was in pain. She made sure to squeeze it roughly before she let it go. He smiled wider.

"Five o'clock tomorrow, not a minute later." She snapped, her temper slipping from her control for a moment.

"As you wish, Professor. Goodnight."

Dolores watched as the door closed behind them, then went to test the tip of the Blood Quill. Whatever it took, she was going to break that rotten, smug turd of a boy, and when she was through with him, the world would be a cleaner place.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Why didn't you tell me you were picking up Harveste yesterday?" Draco complained in Care of Magical Creatures the next morning. "I would've come!"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you or did you not tell everyone in the common room that if they disturbed you in the potions cubicle, you would stuff them in a cauldron and boil them till they stopped screaming?"

Draco gave Blaise a disgruntled look and went back to studying his Bowtruckle. They were barely a week in school and they were already knee-deep in homework.

"He's really gotten into Potions now, hasn't he?" observed Hermione. "What was he doing experimenting at that time of night?"

"I have no idea, but I've heard Ms. Norris is missing."

"You don't say." Harveste said with rare surprise. "She's quite a hard cat to catch. Even Deidre had trouble chasing her down."

Hermione gave him a wry look of her own. The indomitable Crookshanks still hadn't recovered from his tangle with the Black Mamba that summer and was still skittish of thin shadows.

"Alright, students, that will be enough for today." Professor Grubbly-Plank announced, clapping her hands to get their attention. "Please return the Bowtruckles to the table and go back to the castle in an orderly fashion. Do not, I repeat, _do not_ feed them the remaining wood lice, because it will spoil their appetite, and believe you me, the last thing you want is a Bowtruckle with a tummy ache."

"Come along, Deidre." Harry called to the snake, which had been lying in the sun next to a group of Gryffindor girls. They screamed when it woke up and started to slither.

As it came nearer, Blaise noticed that it was moving slower than usual and its midsection was rather rigid.

"Have you eaten something, my pretty darling?" Harry cooed to it as he picked it up. The snake hissed lazily in his ear.

Behind them, Professor Grubbly-Plank counted her Bowtruckles and came up short.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

In the Gryffindor House, Hermione Granger was known as the Mad Muggleborn.

Not that Gryffindors had anything against Muggleborns or mad people. The Weasley twins were mad, with their fireworks, their potentially hazardous pranks and their willingness to corrupt and experiment on the first years. Right now, a gullible group had converged in front of the fireplace, watching George Weasley as he threw up disgustingly into a bucket.

It was just that Granger and her friends could take madness to a whole other level.

Lavender Brown could still remember how mousy she had been in her first year, how she always seemed to be lugging around a giant book and how her hair had been all over place. She had been a know-it-all who kept to herself, and when Ron had teased her about her Levitating Charm, she had burst out in tears.

Then Harveste Addams saved her from a troll and she had started to change.

Lavender couldn't quite put her finger on it. The girl still smiled and talked and laughed with the rest of the Gryffindors sometimes, and she was still a know-it-all with a bag full of books. But there was something slightly off. Something strange.

The boys couldn't see it because they had become fascinated by her. It was possible that this was due to her appearance at the Yule Ball last year. Even Lavender couldn't deny that she had been quite the head-turner that day: pale skin, meticulously arranged hair, Cedric Diggory on her arm and a very tight dress. The gossip was that Cho Chang had been inconsolable.

Ever since then, Hermione had revamped her look. Gone was the mousy, timid bookworm and in her place was…

On a good day, Lavender would have said Hermione was a fashionable young woman with a well-padded bra, who knew a tailor that did close-fitting jackets and short skirts really well. Today, as she watched the Mad Muggleborn cross her long, stockinged legs under her mid-thigh skirt and draw the attention of a nearly salivating Ronald Weasley, Lavender would have said she looked like a trashy librarian.

There had been rumors that Addams had been giving his friends lessons in assassination and other unsavory subjects. She didn't know if that was true, but she had seen Hermione move so quietly at times that she appeared behind people without actually appearing to have taken a step at all. It was enough to give you a heart attack.

"Hermione! Aren't you going to stop them?" Parvati Patil said, interrupting her train of thought as she stomped up to the girl. She angrily gestured towards the fireplace, where the Weasley twins were now breaking out in large green spots. The first years were clapping. "I've got tons of homework to do and I can't concentrate."

And then there was the way she _looked_ at someone, as if she was measuring them for a last suit. It was particularly potent when she was knitting. The rest of Parvati's protest shriveled up in her mouth.

"There's nothing I can do about it." Hermione said finally, shifting her eyes back to the needles in her hands. "They have as much right to use the Common Room as you do."

The Indian girl rallied. "But the first years-"

"Are also within their rights to watch the twins mutilate themselves." By the fireplace, Fred took another sweet and his nose began to run. He caught it just in time. "If you want a quieter place to study, you can go to the Library, though I think you'd get much more done if you weren't necking with Dean Thomas every five minutes."

Lavender watched as her best friend flounced off, red-faced and blustering, and stood up to go after her.

"She's been quite touchy these past few days, don't you think?" A voice said from behind her.

She whirled around quickly. Hermione was standing not two steps from her, her knitting still in her hands, the ball of red yarn floating in the air.

"She's just… She's just…"

"It's none of my concern. Just tell her that she's left her precious homework and her boyfriend behind."

Lavender, her heart beating a mile a minute, nodded hastily. As she stepped out of the portrait with Dean looking concernedly at her, she couldn't squash the feeling that she had just managed to dodge a bullet.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

They were in the Slytherin Common Room, chipping away at another week's worth of essays. Almost every teacher had assigned them homework again and the table they had appropriated for themselves creaked under the weight of all the books.

"Alright," Blaise said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The seventh moonstone definition is?"

"The neutralization of non-lethal amounts of toxins when used in powdered or crushed form and added to diluted armadillo bile." Draco frowned down at the book and pulled out one of his own. It was called _Magical Afflictions: How to Inflect, Reflect and Deflect_. "It says powdered only in this one."

"Stop cross-checking, Draco. It's like you _want_ to write more than just twelve feet of essay. If you keep this up, you'll end up like Granny Frump."

"What's wrong with that?" The blond said absently as he flipped through yet another book. "She's accepted as a witch doctor in five countries."

"And banned from the rest of the world."

"Yeah. So what?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Harveste, wait up!"

Harry and Draco turned around. Cedric Diggory was running up to them. Behind him, Harry saw a rather put-out girl with long, straight black hair and almond-shaped eyes.

"Cho Chang, Cedric?" Harry inquired politely when the lanky boy had reached them. "You haven't given up trying to court my sister, have you?"

"What? No, of course not. Cho was just asking about the project Professor Flitwick assigned them for Charms. I'm doing my apprenticeship under him, you know."

"My congratulations."

"Your sister's actually why I want to talk to you in the first place. I was wondering when her birthday was."

"Why didn't you ask her last year?" Draco asked a touch petulantly. Cedric towered well above him and he was beginning to resent his height - more specifically, his lack of it.

"Getting personal information from Wednesday is like trying to pull the wings of a Hippogriff. You need patience, and very big pliers." Harry inclined his head towards Cedric. "Her birthday is on the 14th of February."

"14th of February? Isn’t that Valentine's Day?"

"We prefer to think of it as the day of both the start of the Polish-Soviet War and the Stardust fire in Dublin. And Lupercalia, the old Roman festival of fertility and unbridled carnal copulation in the wheat fields. We'd celebrate it, but as Mother insists on reminding us, its college first."

Cedric's ears began to burn. "Er, is that so?"

"Bit too much information there, Harveste."

"No such thing, darling." Harry looked up at Cedric and chuckled when the boy began to blush harder. "Though I must say you've left it very late. The Weasley twins have been sending her candy all summer."

"Candy? To Wednesday? Are they insane?"

"Quite possibly. Pugsley is quite fond of the ones that give you boils in unmentionable places."

"I've to start planning then. Thanks, Harveste."

Draco raised an eyebrow as his friend continued to chuckle even when the former Hufflepuff had gone. "You're actually going to allow Cedric to court your little sister?"

"He can try. It's not a crime."

"Of course it is! He's five years older than her! She’s _thirteen_!"

"She likes older men. They last longer."

"Last long-" Draco's brow furrowed with suspicion. "What do you mean by that?"

Harry smiled at him.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Who in their right mind would put that devil of a woman as a High Inquisitor?" Hermione scowled at nobody in particular. "She'll ruin the entire school system, mark my words."

"We can only hope, darling."

Harry tilted his umbrella upwards so he could watch the green blurs above the Quidditch pitch. Draco had invited them to watch the tryouts of the Slytherin team so 'you can watch me fly rings around those losers', and though the sky was horribly blue and clear, both Hermione and Blaise had insisted that he come along.

" _The_ _Quibbler's_ just published an expose about Minister Fudge." A mellow voice said from behind them. "He's partial to goblin pies and he's got an Umgubular Slashkilter in his living room. Someone who would keep one of those in a place with curtains isn't in their right mind at all."

"How true," smiled Harry. "Though I've never tried goblin pie. Do have a seat, Luna."

The Ravenclaw smiled dreamily at the three of them and sat next to Hermione. "Your friend flies very well."

"He should," grumbled Blaise reluctantly. "He nearly poisoned me trying to get Harveste's Firebolt, the whiny ponce."

"You two must be very close to have such a tight bond."

Harry's fan hid his smile at Blaise's affront. "That they are."

"I thought so." She smiled vacantly at the sky. "Oh look, a Bludger's nearly hit him on the head."

Derrick, who had been trying out for Beater, had hit the heavy ball in Draco's direction while the blond wasn't looking. It was a clear penalty and there had been no call for it, but Montague didn't blow his whistle, even when Draco had done a loop-the-loop and was now yelling at his teammate. As if this were a pre-arranged signal, the other three would-be Beaters started to aim for Draco as well. He dodged and ducked, the Firebolt's speed clearly the only thing keeping him from a very long time in the Infirmary.

Blaise was halfway down the steps before they could stand up and Harry leisurely offered Luna his arm.

"They _are_ great friends, aren't they?"

"Blaise is just a worrywart." Hermione said dismissively, regardless of the fact that her hand had instinctively slipped into her pocket and was now gripping her butterfly knife. "Draco's been hit with much worse than a Bludger."

They arrived on the field just as Draco flew down ahead of the rest of the players. Blaise was just in time to catch him around the middle as the blond tried to launch himself at Montague. The argument carried over the wind as a crowd began to form.

"-bloody moron, are you _blind_ -"

"-stop making a big deal-" Montague said with a smirk. "-just a game-"

"-how'd _you_ like to be hit in the head with a Bludger- let _go_ of me, Blaise-"

Blaise's hold tightened on his shoulder, his voice low. "-just calm down and let's get out of here-"

Now the other Slytherins had gathered around them, and Gregory Goyle was cracking his knuckles in anticipation.

"-that's right, go on with your boyfriend, Malfoy. When you're done, I'm sure the Mudblood'll take a turn-"

" _Don't you say a word about Hermione-_ "

"-absolutely shaming to your family, but I'm sure the Dark Lord will forgive your father if he begs hard enough-"

Draco's teeth began to gnash in his fury and, above it, Blaise could almost swear that he could hear an oncoming storm.

Montague had gotten bigger over the years, to the point where he and Goyle almost looked like twin mountain peaks. In comparison, Draco was thin, short and wiry. To the untrained eye, he didn’t look anything like a fighter.

Blaise looked into furious flint-grey eyes, but he didn’t need to know what Draco was capable of. After all, they had trained together.

He smiled and let go of his friend.

In a flurry of movement, Goyle and Derrick were down, both clutching their groins, and Montague was wheezing from a punch to his solar plexus. He fell to his knees, and would have stayed there, if Draco hadn't spun around on his heel and kicked him in the face.

"I hope your mother can forgive herself for raising a pile of shit for a son," The blond said, panting heavily with the amount of anger still boiling in him. "And as for your precious Dark Lord-"

" _Mister Malfoy_ ," trilled a sing-song voice.

Draco turned around slowly.

Blaise was impressed. Umbridge was a braver woman than he thought. Her smile barely slipped, and after a second's hesitation, she continued her toad-waddle up to the small crowd. Professor Snape followed in her wake like a disgruntled scarecrow.

"My, my. I've never seen such an awful temper, but then I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I've heard plenty of unsavory stories about you and your… friends."

Behind the fuzz of her pink cardigan, Blaise saw Daphne laugh and whisper something to Montague.

"And did I hear you mention something about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? I hope you know that spreading groundless alarm does nothing for your record."

"What record?" Draco growled lowly. Blaise put his hand on the blond's elbow.

"I shall take care of his punishment, Madam Inquisitor." Snape said, shooting his godson a warning look. "I shall make sure that he pays for his actions."

"I'm sure you will." Umbridge smiled like a toad around a butterfly. "But in addition to the punishment that you mete out, I think that Mister Malfoy should also spend two weeks in detention with me. And for laying a hand on defenseless students, as well as spreading lies about You-Know-Who, a lifetime ban from Quidditch will also be appropriate."

"What?" Blaise said, his eyes narrowing.

"We must make sure that this sort of thing never happens again. Such vicious behavior should not be tolerated, no indeed."

"But that's not fair! What about the rest of them?" Hermione cried out angrily. "They were trying to knock him out of the air!"

"I saw nothing of the sort. What I saw, and what I'm sure many of these witnesses will agree with, was that Mister Malfoy attacked his teammates unprovoked."

"Are you bl-"

"I'm sure you saw exactly what you needed to, Professor." Harry said, stepping in front of Hermione.

He had seen Hermione's hand start to slip out of her pocket. As much as he admired her dedication, he couldn't let Aunt Dolly die. Yet.

 _Now_ her smile faltered. Blaise didn't know what she saw in Harveste's placidly amused face, but he did know that she was scared. With a click of her horrible shoes, she walked past them, beckoning for both Draco and Snape to join her.

For a moment, Snape's nostrils flared with disgust. It seemed that Umbridge was making more enemies every day.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The next morning, a Hogsmeade weekend, there were two notices on the Slytherin notice board. One was an Educational Decree disbanding all organizations, teams and groups in the school. Permission was to be sought from the High Inquisitor regarding the reformation of any group, which was defined as more than three people who met on a regular basis. If they were searched and no permission slip was found, they would be punished accordingly.

The other was a re-write of the Educational Decrees Fourteen and Fifteen. Past rules could not be changed, only amended, and this one decreed that wearing the uniform improper to someone's gender would be punishable by suspension. It might as well have said: _No more cross-dressing_.

Harry had taken one look at it and swept back up into the boys' dormitories.

"The nerve of her! Harry should be able to wear what he likes!"

The students of Hogwarts were not really encouraged to visit the Hog's Head, partly because of its unsavory clientele and general state of feculence, but mostly because that was where Harveste Addams and his friends usually went for a drink. The bartender didn't usually ask for I.D. and didn't really care; he would sell pure methanol if he could get away with it.

"Three Butterbeers, please." Draco said in a bid to ignore Hermione, who had been complaining about Umbridge the entire way.

"Do give it a rest, Herm." Blaise was sighing. "If Harveste gets worked up about it, he'll just kill her. End of problem."

Hermione frowned. "It's never that easy. And if Harry's Tom-

"He's _not_ his Tom."

"- ever shows up, we won't be ready. That's why we have to form a group – Hi, Neville, Luna."

Luna looked like a wayward powder puff in the gloom of the pub, her extremely fluffy hat nearly falling over her eyes. Neville, for once without his toad, smiled nervously at them.

"What are you doing here?" Blaise asked.

"I've invited them." Hermione said proudly. "It's part of my plan. What would you like to drink, Luna?"

"White Rat Whisky, please."

Draco raised an eyebrow. White Rat was nearly as potent as anything Harveste drank. Even drunkards marinated in years of bad alcohol would hesitate before ordering it.

"Splendid idea. I'll have one too. Neville, you can have my Butterbeer." Hermione rubbed her hands together. "Now, like I was saying, we can't let that _woman_ ruin our chances for good O.W.L.s grades. We need to teach ourselves and be able to practice all we want to in peace. So, what we need is a teacher and a place."

"I vote for the Forbidden Forest," said Draco off-handedly.

Neville's face went white and his hands began to shake. "I-I-I don't think that's such a good idea…"

"Of course it isn't. The centaurs haven't taken kindly to us ever since Harry started eyeing their livestock. I was thinking more along the lines of an abandoned classroom or dungeon."

"Yes, because Umbridge won't have any spies at all." Blaise sighed again. "Unless you've forgotten, Hermione, if we want to form a study group, then we have to ask her for permission. I don't really see her agreeing to it."

"Don't blame me if you don't get an Outstanding. Why don't we let Harry decide?"

"I don't think he's coming-"

"There he is. Harry, over here!"

Blaise, whose back had been to the door, turned around in his seat. Beside him, Draco began to cough as his Butterbeer went down the wrong way.

The third thing that was the most noticeable about Harveste in men's clothing was that he looked like a 1920s mobster. He even had the trilby hat and the white spats. The second thing that was noticeable was his hair, which had been cut and styled into what he probably thought was a modern widow's peak. The first- and most pressing - thing was that he still looked unbelievably attractive.

The door closed behind him, shutting out the starry-eyed drove that had followed him there.

"Your mouth's open," Hermione said, nudging Blaise. "And stop ogling him, Draco. He's not a piece of meat."

"How do I look?" The brunette said, finally arriving at their table. Blaise shut his mouth with an audible click.

"Very becoming," The Gryffindor girl said with a smile.

"Forgive me for taking so long. I am not used to wearing trousers."

Blaise cleared his throat before speaking carefully. "No one's used to seeing you wear trousers."

Hermione rolled her eyes and nudged a Rothbean Gunslinger towards Harry. On an impish whim, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

There was the sound of a bottle breaking.

"Ah, blast it." Draco's voice said in consternation. "Can I have another Butterbeer please?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Oi, Malfoy!"

"Wait up!"

Draco cursed his luck when he saw the Gryffindor Tag Team run up to him. Admittedly, there were things in the Addams house that were far worse than the Weasley twins, but right at the moment, with the two notoriously insane pranksters bearing down on him, he was hard pressed to think of one.

"Fred, George." He greeted warily. "Listen, I'm fine with my hair color as it is and I don't want to start bleeding or puking or anything like that-"

"Whoa, whoa, little man-"

"-we're not looking to sell you-"

"-anything. We just wanted to thank you-"

"-for making sure Goyle and Derrick never procreate-"

"- and for rearranging Montague's pretty face."

"We've wanted to do that for years." they chorused together.

"You guys are really creepy, you know that?"

"That's the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?" Fred smiled widely, flinging an arm around his shoulders. "You kicked your dear Quidditch Captain so hard, Madame Pomfrey had to Vanish his right cheekbone. He's re-growing it right now, but it's slow-going. We know because we passed by the Infirmary-"

"-and switched his Skele-Gro with toilet water." George copied his twin and brought his mad grin closer to Draco's face. "We did that for you, because we know you're still not done with him-"

"-and we're perfectly willing to help-"

"-delighted even-"

"-ecstatic-"

"-we can't wait."

"Right, right." He would have backed away if he could, but as the Gryffindor Beaters, the twins had developed arm muscles that were like steel chains. "Well, if that's all..."

"Ah, but it isn't! We've a plan, you see-"

"-to do with our Impossibly Infantile Inquisitor from Hell, I'm sure you know who I'm talking about-"

"-and being the level-headed, temperate young man that you are-"

"-we were sure that you had a plan too-"

"-so we propose to join forces."

Draco blinked. "Say what?"

George pinched his cheek. "Isn't he adorable, Freddie, acting like he doesn't know what we're talking about?"

"Indeed, Georgie, it's always the innocent-looking ones you have to look out for."

"Now listen, Weasleys, I _really_ don't know what you're talking about-"

"Sure you don't." Fred chuckled.

"Hermione's told us all about that Fire Gum you created-"

"-such a lovely girl, that Hermione, never holds out on her dear friends-"

"-you're a prankster at heart, we know you are-"

"-such a naughty mind, to be able to think of Fire Gum-"

"-we've got ourselves in knots trying to figure out how you did it-"

"Alright, stop!" Draco struggled free of them, his head swimming with words. "Hermione's put you up to this. As if I'd call it something as literal as 'Fire Gum'...She can't stand not knowing how I made it, so she's sent you to badger me!"

"What must you think of us-"

"-working for someone else, what a laugh-"

"-we want to use it as a more portable version of our fireworks, if you must know-"

"-because we're opening up the Joke Shop to end all Joke Shops-"

"Could you please stop talking like that?" Draco sighed, rubbing his forehead. He started to walk down the corridor again. "You're giving me a right headache."

"We really can't-"

"-because we're just so excited-"

"-if you tell us how to make it-"

"- we'll give you the first box of fireworks for free, how about that-"

"-and twenty Galleons to round it off-"

"Hang on, twenty Galleons?" frowned Draco, pausing in mid-step. The twins clustered around him, looking at that moment like very eager giant red spiders. Draco crossed his arms and glared at them. " _Twenty_ Galleons? Cedric is right. You really are insane. It's forty-five Galleons or nothing."

" _Forty-five_ _Galleons_?" Fred asked askance. "You must be joking."

"I am not. Forty-five, _for a start_." Draco said shrewdly. "As well as twenty percent of profits made, and full credit." 

"The hell you say! You'll bankrupt us before we even start!"

"That's the price of doing business, I'm afraid. Of course, I'm open to negotiation if I'm satisfied with the returns for one fiscal year." The grin on Draco's face was as sharp as any Addams'. "Or, you can try to figure out the formula yourselves. I have to warn you though, you should do a lot of testing _before_ you put whatever you make in your mouth. Mistakes will cost you, in teeth at the very least."

Fred and George shared a reluctantly admiring look between them. "Dear little Snake-" 

"-clever Snake-"

"-you've a right head on your shoulders for business, and no mistake-"

"-or should we say extortion-"

"-highway robbery, really-"

"-but alright, you'll-"

"-get what you want. But,-"

"-in return-"

"-just give us a hint-"

"-just a tiny one-"

"Fine." Draco pursed his lips in annoyance as their lilting, broken sentences made his headache flare up even more. "You know how to make syrup of hellebore, do you?"

"'Course we do! Fifth year stuff, we could do it in our sleep. What-"

"-do you take us for? If that's all we need, then-"

"Very well, since you're both so clever." Draco sniffed. "Go ahead, if you think you're so smart. But don't come crawling back, asking me how to make syrup of Doberman."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harry inhaled the familiar scent of wet cat droppings and fetid, moldy locker room. It really did smell like home.

The liquid in the cauldron shimmered and began to bleed black. A face appeared in it like a pale maggot in a festering wound.

"How I've missed you, Mother."

"And I you, my viper. How goes your year?"

"Quite well. Aunt Dolly is one of our teachers."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I think Hermione wants to kill her."

"Such a darling girl. I shall tell Madeleine."

"She wishes me to head a study group so the other students don't die when Tom comes to attack us. Isn't that droll?"

One by one, other faces appeared in the murky liquid. Wednesday, in particular, looked very pleased.

"Cedric sent me a Streeler, Harry! It wasted half the Beauxbatons gardens yesterday!" She said gleefully, holding up an atrociously orange snail that was oozing its toxic venom down her arm. "Now that's what I call a present!"

"Waste not, want not, Wednesday dear." Morticia said warningly. Her daughter nodded and caught the rest of the goo in a ceramic mug. "Now, is everyone here? Good. I have a family announcement, my darlings. A horrible, horrible thing has happened – so awful and vile that it fills my heart with divine dread."

"Mother?"

"What is it, Mother?"

"Could be heartburn. I'll put less antifreeze in the pickled leeches next time."

Morticia's blood-red lips curved up in a little smile. "Darlings… I'm pregnant."

" _Pregnant_?"

All heads turned to Gomez, who had frozen in shock. Very slowly, he toppled over backwards and out of sight.

"Men." His mother said with a shrug.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"We really have to do something about her."

Blaise groaned into his palm. "Not _again_ , Hermione."

"Yeah, I've just managed to stop being pissed off about it." Draco said. "Besides, you dragged us into the Library to research the Low Call to Blood Magic, not to talk about Umbridge. I've got potions on the fire in the dungeons, you know."

"But we haven't found anything about Blood Magic. It's barely even mentioned in any of these books." Hermione gestured to the towering piles of duty tomes on the table. "It's all Light magic this and Light magic that, and Dark magic is bad… There's not enough information!"

"Well, these books _were_ written by Light wizards and witches. Blood Magic is kind of taboo to... well, everyone who doesn't practice it."

“Yes, but _why_? I know the feud started with Merlin and the Silver Lady, but why did people start ignoring the old magic? They’d been using it for centuries, and then they suddenly stopped? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Nothing makes sense during war.” Blaise shrugged. “In order to build the strength of Light and Dark Magic, the followers of both sacrificed the remaining practitioners of Blood Magic. The survivors left Europe and disguised themselves, I suppose. We’re actually very lucky that we found the Addams family, they might be the only living practitioners of the Old Art left in the world.”

Draco snorted. “If this is luck, I’m never going to gamble. And what about your mum?”

“Mum’s more of a dabbler, and her god’s good either way if I’ve read the literature right.”

"Well, _knowledge_ is not supposed to be biased." Hermione snapped. "I can't _do_ a ritual if I don't _have_ a ritual. I don't see why you can't just tell me yours."

"It's personal. A bloodline ritual wouldn’t work for you." Blaise said apologetically. "Just… look, have you chosen a god or goddess yet?"

"I've got a few options." Hermione opened a huge binder and took out a piece of paper covered in her tiny handwriting. "Here."

Draco’s eyes widened. "A few? There's two hundred names on this thing! It would take you a month to Call every one of them!"

She looked hunted. "You were the one who said that the god doesn't always answer. I just wanted to be prepared."

"It's not about the brain," sighed Draco. "It's about the body, the magic, your core. It's about _you_ and what you really, really want."

"I _want_ to have Umbridge torn apart by wild horses."

"And that is the kind of base desire that’s a good anchor for Blood Magic. Your ritual finds the root of you, the animal instinct behind the humanity."

"And how do you know all this, Mister Clever?" Blaise asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"I've done my Low Call." Draco smiled at them. "Ms. Norris… was useful."

The way the light hit his face made it look strange, as if there were shadows beneath his skin. Draco bent over his book again and both Hermione and Blaise noticed a hint of something larger just beyond their sight. Something scaled. Something big.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

.

.

.

…

End of Chapter

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must be so slow to NOT notice my AO3 inbox! 68 messages, daaaaaaaamn. Anyway, if there are any social media butterflies out there, I have finally updated my profile to reflect my accounts, which are a little more constant than my posting schedule. Stalk me, dark hearts, and let me see what your lives are like without Harveste!

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The sky was beautifully overcast, the sinking sun casting its bleeding shades under the cloud cover. Harry breathed deeply and caught the scent of a freshly slaughtered carcass coming from the Forbidden Forest. It seemed the Acromantula would be feasting tonight.

Harry crossed his legs as he perched sidesaddle on the broom and pushed off the ground. He was still getting used to the trousers, feeling peculiarly light and weighted down at the same time. The broomstick didn’t help. Apparently there were rules about bringing classified weapons onto the field during a Quidditch game, and there were also rules about having to use a broom to fly, even though they were the least of all flight aids. Ah well, boring as it was, it was far better to start getting used to it now.

He had requested the broom from home and Twinkles had just delivered it. It was made of ancient yew saplings strapped together and bound with thornwood, a true Addams broom. And five minutes later, like a true Addams broom, it growled at him and bucked him off.

Fortunately, he had tied a rope around his waist and he stopped a few inches from the ground.

"Honestly," Harry said in an admonishing tone, tapping it on the bristles when he had climbed back up. "Must we do this every single time?"

In response, it twisted around till he was upside down and shook furiously before zooming across the pitch, nearly braining him against the nearest pole.

"Alright, alright..."

Harry reached into his tightly coiffed hair and pulled out a blackened _senbon_ to prick his fingers with. A true Addams broom was carnivorous, of course.

The rules were to use a broom. No one said what _kind_ of broom. He would have _such_ fun during the tryouts.

A soft nicker made him look around, and he smiled as he pinned a fallen lock of hair back into place.

The gaunt frames of the Thestrals hung like silvery ghosts in the darkening sunset sky. He could feel the slight breeze stirred up by the flap of their wings, and in it he could smell their thoughts: the call between herdmates, the joy of flight, a welcoming of the night... and underneath all that, an encompassing, undeniable thread of pure hunger.

"Well then," He said with a small smile. The broom under him started to shake in anticipation. "Would you like to play?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Don't you think Harveste is acting a bit strange?"

Blaise looked up from his copy of _The Dream Oracle_. Draco was gazing thoughtfully across the Divination Room at their friend, though Blaise would be surprised if he could even see that far. Professor Trelawney must have just gotten an extra shipment of her excessively perfumed incense because the smoldering coals at her table were nearly covered by the stuff. If Wednesday hadn't taken to burying them alive every summer –in her affectionate way, Harveste always pointed out- both Draco and he would have been choking on the foul smog.

"Blaise, are you listening to me? He's gone… weird."

"You've noticed this just now? Have you forgotten our first year? Our second? Any time from when we met him to a few seconds ago?"

"Shut up." Draco turned to scowl at him. "You know what I mean. He's different this year. Nicer."

"You must be dreaming." As if knowing that he was the topic of discussion, Harveste glanced at their table. Even under the softly peaked trilby, his eyes were obviously their normally darkly smiling selves, and when he caught Blaise looking, he waved a little. "He's the same condescending git he's always been."

"There's Luna." Draco persisted. "And Neville this morning."

Ah, Neville. It had been just a small incident before breakfast. No House was free from bullying, and though Finnegan and Weasley weren't on par with the Idiot Four, they weren't above picking on those who were different or strange. Everything that was Neville, actually. They had been taunting him on the staircase, making fun of the fact that he hung out with the little shutterbug that sometimes liked to take pictures of Harveste. Hermione had just emerged at the edge of the crowd with a _look_ on her face and was just about to deal with it when Harveste had stepped up and smiled at everyone.

Gryffindors weren't all that stupid, no matter what Professor Snape always said. After the group had dispersed – _scurried_ away- Harveste had helped Neville with his books and kept a hand at his elbow all the way into the Great Hall.

 _Ah_.

"Jealous much, _jormungandr_?" Blaise teased with a grin.

"Shut up." Draco frowned, though his ears flushed pink. "As if-"

"Hem, he- _hach-ooo_!"

"Oh _gods._ "

Now the reason for the thicker-than-usual incense was apparent. Professor Trelawney hurried forward to help the snuffling High Inquisitor, though Blaise would swear there was a hint of a smile on her face. _Good for her_ , he thought. No matter that she was an incompetent teacher, he would support nearly anyone who tried to put the toady pink botheration in her place.

"Is this much incense necessary?" Umbridge was asking, her small eyes narrowed and already scribbling on a clipboard.

"Certainly!" Trelawney trilled. "It is absolutely _imperative_ to those who wish to utilize the Second Sight. Of course, those who are not _gifted_ cannot possibly understand, but I pass no judgment."

"Is that so."

Blaise smirked down at the open pages of his book. Their Divinations Professor wasn't a big a pushover as she seemed.

"Nevertheless, I must insist – _Addams_! What on _earth_ are you wearing?"

Draco's nostrils flared in annoyance. Blaise rolled his eyes. The woman seemed to have nursed her grudge against the Addams family and was now bent on exacting her vengeance on Harveste. It was like watching someone juggling Ashwinder eggs just for the hell of it.

"The Male Winter Uniform, in accordance with Educational Decree Twenty-Three, Professor Umbridge." The brunette answered pleasantly.

This was the first time Umbridge had seen Harveste since she had posted the decree, and she did not looked pleased. Her small piggy eyes raked over every inch of the immaculately pressed dress coat with its pristine white handkerchief. Under it, Blaise knew, was a shirt starched to within an inch of its life and a pinstriped waistcoat. It was the kind of suit someone could be buried in with pride.

"I think you may have misunderstood _my_ rules." The High Inquisitor said sweetly even as she waddled in front of him and crossed her arms over her lumpy cardigan front. "The reason for the uniform is so that every boy and girl in this school looks indistinguishable from one other. This is why it is called a _uniform_. You are _not_ wearing the uniform, Mister Addams, because no one else is wearing the same thing. Thirty points from Slytherin, tut, tut, and please attempt to _thoroughly_ read the Decrees next time. You may be surprised at which rule you end up breaking."

"Thank you for warning me." Harveste smiled, his polite tone unwavering. "However, I feel I must correct you on one point-"

"If you _must_ say something, Mister Addams, you should raise your hand. This is the protocol in good classrooms, yes, Professor Trelawney?"

"As a matter of fact, I do not require the students to raise their hands." Trelawney's eyes, huge behind her thick glasses, blinked haughtily and she adjusted one of her many bangles as she continued. "It suggests a tyrannical and out-moded way of teaching-"

"I _see_." Umbridge scribbled something on her clipboard again. "How long have you been in this post?"

"Nearly sixteen years." Trelawney said, drawing herself up with pride. "Dumbledore himself appointed me."

"Then I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that your _new method_ of teaching causes such low grades in this class. And with the permission of the Headmaster as well. The _current_ Headmaster, I mean."

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Certainly you cannot be surprised. The overall grades for this particular subject have been declining for more than thirty years. Hogwarts has not turned out a reputable clairvoyant in all that time. Are you to say that you and the _current_ Headmaster aren't responsible for this? At the very least, your incense and new methods have not been helping. "

Draco, his ire at Umbridge now replaced by confusion, looked at Blaise questioningly. No one in the class was even pretending to read anymore. All eyes were on the two Professors, the tension as thick as the incense. And, more disturbing than the fact that Professor Trelawney now looked like a scraggly lizard puffing herself up in preparation to breathe fire, was the sight of Harveste Addams leaning forward in interest. Blaise knew him too well by now to be fooled by it. Under that placid smile was an undeniably calculating mind.

He had been right. Harveste hadn't changed at all. He was still a bloody git.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Trelawney had some balls on her today, didn't she?"

Blaise smothered a chuckle at Draco's almost-admiring tone and continued to tighten the leather strap on his brass knuckles. They had been his mother's present for becoming a Prefect and engraved across the palm grip were the words _To Blaise, from your loving mum._ He was only grateful that it hadn't been engraved on the ribbed surfaces of the knuckles themselves. It would have been as good as written confession every single time he punched someone.

"It probably had something to do with the fennel and mullein in the incense. I knew there was something funny about the smell today." Draco continued. "They're for strengthening one's will."

Blaise made a noncommittal noise as he listened with half an ear. Around them, the usual noise of the Slytherin common room started to die away as people left for an early dinner.

Trelawney had certainly been more courageous than normal that afternoon, not even waiting for their class to finish before demanding that Umbridge and her 'groundless accusations' exit her Tower, 'as it is obvious that you have no intention of inspecting me fairly, Madam Inquisitor, and I shall be certain to tell Headmaster Dumbledore about this, you can be sure of _that_!' Lysette Thickey and her friends had applauded after Umbridge had gone, and Harveste had bowed a little more deeply towards their skinny teacher as everyone stood up to leave.

"You can smell the difference in things like that, Malfoy?” A tall, thin boy with an unfortunate haircut settled into the armchair across from them. “Your grades in Potions might be the real thing after all."

Blaise realized that they had never spoken more than a few words to each other in the past five years, and now he searched his mind for the boy's name.

"What do you want, Theo?" Draco said in a bored tone.

_Ah, right, Draco's childhood playmate…_

"Nothing with you, little Draco." The blond bristled at this and straightened up in his seat, but Theodore Nott ignored him in favor of looking at Blaise. "It's _you_ I want to talk to."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Draco glared unseeingly at the book in front of him. Usually he would have ignored everything else in favor of _The Joy of Human Ailments_ , but the audacity of being made to leave his own common room rankled.

_The nerve of Theo…What's he want with Blaise anyway…Smarmy giant idiots, the pair of them…_

His temples, still throbbing from the amount of magic he had expended during the Low Call, started to beat a more painful staccato. He grit his teeth and rubbed his head. That was the trouble with wizarding Maturity. The developing abilities always took a tax on the physical body, and there was no amount of chamomile that could soothe it. He only hoped it would end soon.

_It's not likely though. Not with the One I called. I only hope-_

"If you glare at that book any more, it'll burst into flames and Madam Pince will have your head."

Draco sighed as Cedric slid into the seat next beside of him. "What do _you_ want?"

The former Hufflepuff merely grinned in his open, guileless way. "What makes you think I want anything? Can't I just sit here? And prevent you from incinerating that poor book?"

"If I glare at you instead, do you promise to catch fire?" Draco said irritably.

"What's got you in a twist? Homework isn't that bad, is it?"

"Ha. I wish it was as simple as that." Cedric looked at him questioningly, but he shook his head. "It's nothing. Just tell me what you want."

"I didn't-"

"Oh please, why else would a teacher's assistant sit with a student? If you want help with Wednesday, you're asking the wrong person."

Cedric chuckled. "It's not about that, and anyway, I've sent her a Mackled Malaclaw that I'm sure she'll be pleased with. I hear they're rare in France."

"Only because they know what food _should_ taste like. You realize you've just given her something she can use to poison her schoolmates with?"

"That's a thing to say. I'm sure she's had plenty of poisons available to her. I mean, Harveste _is_ her brother. And, um... speaking of him, I've been hearing a... rumor."

"Pot of jam again, is it?" Draco said dismissively.

"Not about that. About Defense classes. _Alternative_ Defense classes. Eep."

The last word was said very quietly, because Madam Pince had amazing hearing and Cedric didn't want her to know the Draco had just pressed a dagger blade against his stomach.

"That’s a curious topic, what with Umbridge and all that. Go on."

"I'm not going to _report_ you." Cedric said in a quick undertone, trying hard not to breathe because, even if he was moderately certain that Draco wouldn’t kill him in the middle of the library, _the dagger was still there_. "I wanted to know if anybody could join."

"Hypothetically, Hermione's in charge of all that. Anyway, Harveste said he didn't want to do it."

"But it’s a good idea. _Please_ put the dagger away."

"Sorry." Draco said, in a tone the Hufflepuff considered unrepentant. "When you say ‘anybody’..."

"A few people from our Quidditch team, and most of the higher years. They're a bit wound up because of their N.E.W.T.s. Should we tell Harveste? I'm sure he'll be a bit more agreeable now that there are more of us."

"More of us to torture and play with, you mean." Draco said wryly. He stood up, finally closing the book. "Fine then. Let's get this over with. I think he's by the Astronomy classroom."

"Actually, I saw him on the Quidditch pitch an hour ago."

"The pitch? What for? He hates Quidditch."

"Really? He told me he wanted to try out for the Slytherin team."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Harveste, why didn't you tell me you wanted to try out?" Draco frowned at his friend over breakfast. “Out of the four of us, I’m the only one who actually likes playing Quidditch.”

Harry smiled around his cup. "You were busy with your potions."

"Not _all_ the time." Draco protested. "Just four nights out of the week."

"It's O.W.L.s year. I didn't want to impose."

"Since when don't you?" Blaise muttered from across the table. His arm still ached from this morning's impromptu 'donation' and he was having to cut his sausages with his fork. "You haven't even bothered to change into a proper uniform. If Umbridge catches you, she's bound to take points again."

The brunette adjusted his gloves primly. "This is the proper uniform, darling. Newton Scamander, in 1924, outlined the school's third edition of the uniform in honor of the accomplishment of-"

"You just want to annoy Umbridge, don't you?" Blaise sighed. "We're never going to get the House Cup."

"Who's whiny now?" The blond Slytherin snickered. "Seriously though, Harveste. Trying out for the Quidditch team..."

"It's not like you to be worried, darling."

"Worried? Who's worried? I want to watch you wipe the grounds with them!"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"And with the Gorodok Ruse, you have to remember to shift your weight more to the left, because most people go for the right, and you'll be able to fool them, see-"

"What are they talking about?" asked Hermione, catching up with them on the way to Care of Magical Creatures. A little behind Blaise, Draco was chattering animatedly to a patiently nodding Harveste. She watched as the blond made a show of dropping one shoulder and gripping an imaginary broom.

"Harveste is joining the team apparently."

"What? Tryouts?" Blaise raised an eyebrow at her and she stifled a giggle. "Right, he's definitely joining the team."

As they approached the enclosure behind Hagrid's house, they were treated to the unpleasant sight of Professor Umbridge's squat form standing next to Professor Grubbly-Plank.

"I wonder-" They heard her glutinous voice asking. "-Professor Hagrid's very extended leave-"

"She wasn't nearly so inquisitive when she was inspecting Professor McGonagall." Hermione sniffed as the class started.

"I want everyone in groups of two." Professor Grubbly-Plank announced to them, halting the High Inquisitor in mid-sentence. "By the end of today, I expect a detailed sketch of the Bowtruckle, complete with labels and which wand tree you think it hails from. Everyone, pick your partners and start working."

"That's you and me then, Hermione." Blaise said dryly, noticing that Draco hadn't heard a word the teacher had said and was now pantomiming the Wronski Feint.

"I've never even seen Harry on a broom." The brown-haired witch sighed as she carefully coaxed a Bowtruckle to one side with a handful of woodlice. "I wonder if he'll bring his umbrella with him."

"I'd like to see Professor Snape's face when he does."

The class went by fairly quietly, broken only by the occasional yelp when a Bowtruckle got too close, and the cloying tone of the High Inquisitor as she attempted to get more information out of their Professor. It wasn't until she started to walk around in order to ask the students questions that the peaceful atmosphere was broken.

" _Mister_ Addams."

The Bowtruckle at their table gabbled in annoyance when Hermione absently clenched her fist, crushing the rest of the woodlice.

"Fifty points from Slytherin and a week's detention." Umbridge said, her lips spread in a grimace of a smile. "I do believe I have told you about your improper mode of dress. Perhaps a trip to the Headmaster will make more of an impact."

"As you wish, Professor." The impassive brunette stood up and meticulously dusted the back of his trousers off. "But, as in the Divination Room, I would like to point out-"

" _Come along_ , Mister Addams."

"She's picking on him." Hermione rubbed her forehead. "And he's making it so _easy_ for her."

Blaise turned back to his sketch. "Blame Newton Scamander."

"We have to-"

"Get rid of her. I know, Hermione."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"This is unacceptable, Dumbledore!" Umbridge protested. "He is making a mockery of the entire institution!"

The Headmaster, eyes twinkling over his steepled fingers, smiled benignly at her. "I'm afraid he is correct, Dolores. The uniform the rest of the students are wearing was introduced by the previous Headmaster as a more economical option, but the official formal uniform has never been changed since Headmaster Scamander's time."

"But a uniform is supposed to-"

"Nevertheless, Mr. Addams is well within his rights to wear it." Dumbledore nodded to Harveste, who was watching them avidly from the other chair. "I am quite pleased to see it, as a matter of fact, and I was just thinking that it might be prudent to reinstate this particular rule-"

Umbridge's nostrils flared and her pallid face took on a ugly flushed hue. "This is unacceptable." She repeated. "This is just another of your efforts to undermine the Ministry. May I remind you that the Minister himself has given me this position, as well as the authority that comes with it. I see you have also ignored my report on your poor excuse for a Divination teacher."

"Professor Trelawney is an authentic Seer."

"She made me leave her classroom in the middle of my inspection!"

"Ah yes." Papers rustled as Dumbledore shuffled through the files on his desk. "And I have here her explanation. Apparently your presence was in contradiction to the aura that she was trying to create in her classroom. I myself am not blessed with the Sight, but I do assume that, as she is the resident professional, she knows what must and what mustn't."

Dumbledore's Jolly Old Grandfather look deepened as Umbridge stormed off. Just as Harveste stood up to leave, he spoke again. "Fifty points for your intimate knowledge of school decree, Mr. Addams."

Harry bowed politely. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"The tailoring of your coat is particularly exquisite."

"It is a Finucci, sir. Close friends of the family."

"Ah." Dumbledore leaned forward, twinklies in full force. "My congratulations to them for an excellently crafted masterpiece. And, Mr. Addams, may I assume that this little show of idiosyncrasy has softened you towards my proposition?"

A corner of Harry's lips curled up, and though the Headmaster had felt no flare of magic, the room started to grow colder. "I did not realize that Professors were allowed to proposition their students."

"I merely meant that with the Ministry as it is-"

"I know what you meant, sir. If you'll excuse me, my Charms class is about to start."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

There was something extremely comforting about knitting. Maybe it was that heart-warming satisfaction gained from making something with your own hands. Or perhaps it was the undeniable security of holding two needle-like implements.

Hermione hummed quietly as she started on another row. She had learned how to knit when she was younger, but it wasn't until she bought _Voodoo for the House and Hearth_ at Diagon Alley that she had started again. She had finished four dolls already and was now making a scarf with a houndstooth pattern. It wasn't quite the same as a skulls-and-crossbones effect but she thought Harveste would appreciate it all the same.

"Um…T-That's really p-pretty, Hermione."

"Thanks." She looked up and smiled at Neville. The boy smiled back shyly, stopping mid-fidget. "Did you want something?"

"Er…Well, I – You know I said – In the – A-About the train-"

"If it's about the whipping, you're better off asking Luna. I'm afraid I haven't had enough time to practice."

Lee Jordan, who had been doing his Astronomy homework nearby, dropped his quill. Neville caught his eye and began to blush furiously.

"I-it's not-! I didn't-…I mean," He took a deep breath, then another one. "I was talking to you about Professor D-Dumbledore, you remember?"

"I think so." Hermione tapped her lips with one needle as she thought. "You said something about him visiting you during the summer. Come on, sit down."

"I was thinking…The library… It's kind of p-private…"

"Nonsense. The common room is private enough. Isn't that right, Lee?" She added, turning around to look straight at their housemate.

Neville couldn't see her face at that angle, but he was certain that Lee's quick nod and suddenly paling complexion had something to do with the strange way her knitting needles looked in the firelight - as if they were longer than normal, thicker, sharper.

When she turned back, she was all smiles again, patting the cushion beside her in a friendly way as she put up a thin privacy barrier. It wasn't safe to make anything thicker, not where the Weasley twins could sneak up on you suddenly.

"Did H-Harveste t-teach you that?" He asked as he sank down gratefully.

"Teach me what?"

"Um…never mind. About D-Dumbledore…"

Hermione kept on knitting, but she kept an eye on him as he started to talk to his shoes. She had heard stories about his grandmother, had seen her a few times at Platform 9 ¾ . She had been quite the forbidding figure with her vulture-topped hat. She had heard about Alice and Frank Longbottom as well, how they had been two of the greatest Aurors in the First War before Bellatrix Lestrange had broken them. They had been strong people with strong personalities.

In comparison…

"-G-Gran was absolutely f-furious that he hadn't said anything about the p-prophecy before, but I can sort of understand, 'coz I mean, b-being a S-Savior isn't really me, and anyway, I'm absolutely hopeless at P-Potions and they say you've got to be good at P-Potions to be an A-Auror-"

"She's got every right to be furious!" She hissed suddenly, his words catching up to her. "To just say to your face that he wants you to fight - and Voldemort of all people, without so much as a by-your-leave! He's unconscionable! How dare he – all because of some stupid prophecy, and to attempt to justify it with your birthday! It's this whole Harry Potter business again, but this time he's foisting it off on you!"

Neville had never had a female angry on his behalf, even if she was being confusing. His blush started to return. "'Born as the s-seventh month dies'? Does that mean Professor D-Dumbledore asked H-Harveste to do this too?"

"Well, yes. In fact, he brought it up last- Oh. _Oh_." Hermione's hands tightened on her knitting. She remembered the confrontation last year in Dumbledore's office and... and what Harry had said before leaving. "Harry knew about this! He knew about the prophecy!"

"Er...what?"

Hermione's mind, usually absorbed in her studies even while doing her new pastime, now started churning behind her narrowed eyes. There had always been little hints, clues that Harveste had a Plan that they weren't privy to, ever since last year and that terrible Triwizard tournament. Their fight training had picked up during that time as well, twice as dangerous since they had been fighting with Wednesday as well, even if Harveste insisted that she was being nearly considerate. And there had been _Nimue_ , but that wasn't for _this_ sort of thing. At least, she didn't think it was. But _Myrddin_...

"Neville, do you know who Myrddin was?"

"Um..." The Gryffindor's brow wrinkled a bit, and he started to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. "T-That was the Welsh name for Merlin, wasn't it?"

"Right. But do you know what he _did_?"

"Um, h-he was court wizard to K-King Arthur?"

Hermione, thoughts still going a mile a minute, frowned even as she tried to coax her friend along. "And what else?"

"H-he was the first wizard to be known around the world b-because he d-discovered Light Magic and u-used it to establish C-Camelot?"

"Partly right. He didn't discover Light Magic. He _created_ it. He Called it, and it came to him. He was the first magic-user to ever use the Low Call for something other than Blood Magic."

"M-My Gran doesn't approve of B-Blood Magic..."

"Not a lot of people do nowadays, I hear. But Myrddin... he was young when he did that. And he fell in love. And..." She scowled even more, and Neville could almost swear that he could hear the slightest hint of thunder in her voice. "I've _almost_ got it. Darn you, Harry!"

"What?"

"Him and his puzzles! He can get so secretive sometimes. Well, I daresay this is what he wants to do in the first place, so... I might as well tell you now. Harry was the one who reminded the Headmaster that he wasn't the only candidate for the prophecy."

"H-Harveste did...? W-why would he-"

"Because he plans to help you. He'd never throw anyone into danger, not if he can't have a little fun first." She squinted at the wall behind Neville's ear, then she added abruptly. "Are you good at cooking?"

"Wha- um, yes?" He answered, now utterly confused. "I mean, not really g-good, but I don't b-burn anything much-"

"Potions is much like cooking, Draco will tell you. I'm sure he's got some free time now that he's off the Quidditch team, and he'll be glad to teach you."

Neville gave her a look much like a deer would have shown to an oncoming car. " _T-teach_ …D-Draco M-M-Ma-"

"Malfoy. You remember him," She chuckled behind her hand, her anger dampening at the fear written all over his face. "The one with caramel all over his head."

"B-b-b-"

"He's not that bad."

"I-it's not just P-Potions though. There's T-Transfigurations and Charms…"

"Blaise is quite good at Charms. He says his mother teaches him at home."

"There are other things – Professor D-Dumbledore said I've got to learn how t-to p-protect myself-" At this point, Neville looked as close to fainting as she had ever seen him. Hermione covered his hand with hers and wasn't surprised to find that it was as cold as marble.

"I'm sure between Luna and myself, there's nothing we can't teach you about the whip. We'll _help_ you, Neville, and anyone else who wants to learn. Voldemort isn't going to keep quiet forever. That's why we met at the Hog's Head, and it's too bad Harry turned us down, but even without him, I'm sure we can pull it off. And as for Professor Dumbledore... well-"

"But I wanted Harveste to teach me!" He blurted out suddenly. As soon as he said it, he clapped both hands over his mouth, his chocolate-brown eyes wide in horror. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't m-mean to- I'm sure y-you'd be a great teacher, Hermione, b-but I-"

"Don't you worry. We learned from the best.” She smiled at him. “And besides, I'm sure you wouldn't like his teaching methods anyhow. He's a bit unconventional when it comes to that sort of thing. Draco nearly lost a finger last time."

"L-l-lost a f-f-f-f-"

In comparison to his grandmother and his parents, Neville was like a scruffy little puppy. Hermione smiled again and resisted the urge to ruffle his hair.

Besides, no one kept secrets from her. Not even Harveste Addams.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

.

.

…

End of Chapter


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Fenrir. I don't know whether to think "Poor Fenrir" or "Yum, Fenrir"...  
> Perhaps I like my men like I like my pencils: broken but still sharp and potentially dangerous in the right hands ^.^

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Hermione got her chance a few days later, when she saw Deidre slithering up the stairs to the Owlery during one of her solitary Prefect rounds.

Harveste sat on the windowsill, petting the largest, strangest vulture Hermione had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Both of its heads sported beaks that were wickedly curved and four malignant yellow eyes that swiveled towards her when she took a step further into the room.

"Hello, Twinkles." She greeted warily, making sure to stay out of range. The bird blinked languorously at her, as if acknowledging her presence as a living, breathing being while calculating its capacity for the patience required to wait for her to expire.

"Hermione." Harry smiled, standing up. Twinkles gave a rattling hiss as she fell to the floor and Deidre, who had been looking contemplatively up at the rafters and the huddled mass of frightened school owls, turned and opened her black mouth threateningly.

Harveste was as immaculately dressed as he had been this morning, still in full uniform with nary a crease to be seen. The light of the waning moon made his skin glow, she noted absently, and it picked out little silvery hints in his hair. The atmosphere would have been romantic to other girls, but Hermione had other things on her mind.

"Neville wants us to teach him how to fight." She said without preamble. "Dumbledore has told him that he must be the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Must he?"

"He said it had something to do with a prophecy, but I've checked the public records and haven't found anything yet."

"You wouldn't, darling. Prophecies that are available to the public eye are those which have been fulfilled or are obsolete due to certain circumstances. The only place to find a prophecy that is waiting to come true would be in the Ministry of Magic, ninth floor, past the Analysis of Time. I believe Neville's prophecy would be in the ninety-seventh row. I shall take you some time, if you like."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "You've seen it already? What am I saying, of course you have..."

He gave a quiet half-laugh, a sound she had never heard before. It was strangely mesmerizing. "How quaint." He said, so low she almost missed it. "They're dancing."

"Huh?"

At Harveste's gesture, she looked down. On the moonlit floor, among dried pellets and half-eaten owl treats, the vulture and snake were circling warily around each other. Deidre's shiny bullet-shaped head was raised high off the floor, and Twinkles' wings were half open, her dusty feathers puffed up all over her body in an effort to become even bigger.

"Twinkles is Grandmama's, you know." Harry said conversationally. "They found each other in the Black Forest when Twinkles tried to get at her brain through her ears. They've been together ever since."

"Harry-"

"Deidre isn't even a tenth of her age and size, but Twinkles reacts because she knows that all snakes are threats. And Deidre responds because she's been challenged and... well, because she's hasn't had anything except a barn owl for dinner. They fight not because of enmity towards each other, but because it is their nature as hunters, even though they are on the same level of the food chain."

Hermione frowned in thought. "This is another lesson, isn't it?"

"Everything is a lesson, darling. There is a lesson in breakfast. In Gregory's case, it would be that not enough roughage causes constipation."

"Is that why he collapsed and had to be brought to the Infirmary this afternoon?"

Harry's smile was inscrutable. "It could very well be."

"You know, everything would be so much easier if you would just _tell_ us what you want us to do instead leaving us to puzzle it out from the lives of _Myrddin_ and _Nimue_."

"I would not like to take your independence from you. There is enough of that sort of thing happening already." His eyes darkened as he spoke, and as if in response, a cloud passed over the moon, making the shadows reach out from between every nook and cranny.

Voldemort's Death Eaters, Hermione knew, no longer had the right to exercise their free will, and they weren't the only ones who were told what to do...

There was an indignant squawk and the sound of flapping wings and skittering claws. As moonlight streamed back through the window, she saw the shape of Twinkles already in the sky, winging back towards the sea. Harry was now crouched next to the Black Mamba, who had a mouthful of what looked like tail feathers.

"Grandmama will be furious." He said with a smile. "Well done, my pretty darling."

"I'd hate your puzzles if I didn't know Blaise and Draco. I think they've stopped thinking about the books altogether, what with O.W.L.s and all. Did Draco tell you that he's done the Low Call already?"

"He mentioned it between broom specifications. I rather think he's trying to play Quidditch through me." He extended a hand to Deidre and she obediently slithered up the sleeve. "And how are your preparations for your ritual?"

Hermione groaned at the reminder. "Blaise keeps going on about it too. I'm not nearly prepared enough to go through with it. I've to order incense and candles and oils and a glass cauldron-"

"Are you opening a shop?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it's because no one will give me a copy of their ritual that I've got to make my own!” She huffed in annoyance.“I've got my list of names down to fifty now, but no matter which pantheon I go through, it seems that no one ever gave a god less than two hours, so I've written the invocation accordingly."

Harry raised the other eyebrow, then chuckled behind his hand. "You're far readier than you think you are."

"And, of course, there's O.W.L.s to study for and homework to pass in, Prefect duties, potions to read up on because of... well, because of Draco, books in the Library I haven't read yet , Neville to teach- There simply isn't enough time. If you'd just agree to teach us Defense-"

"I'm afraid that isn't an option. Teaching other people simply reeks of good moral fiber." He shuddered genteely. "In any case, there is still Aunt Dolly to consider."

"Oh, she won't be a problem for much longer." Hermione shrugged dismissively. "I think I've figured something out."

She told him what she wanted to do. He smiled.

"You might as well do your Low Call right now, darling. That plan would do any Addams proud."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Umbridge seems to make a point of inspecting all the classes that Harveste is in, don't you think?" Draco whispered to Blaise.

A few feet away, in front of the blackboard, the High Inquisitor stood like an awful pink toothache in the otherwise soothing gloom of the dungeons. She was currently asking Snape about something or other, but her piggy eyes were tracking one calmly working brunette as he prepared his ingredients next to Hermione.

Blaise glanced at the woman over an armful of measuring cups and managed to shrug without dropping anything. "Idiocy never lets up."

"Too right." Draco was now watching the Idiot Four, minus Millicent, whisper to each other. He frowned. "Grab those Doxy wings, will you? And the blue-striped sea horse."

"Those aren't ingredients for the Strengthening Solution. What do you want them for?"

"Just an experiment, is all."

They started on their potion. It wasn't as finicky as the Draught of Peace, but the measurements of each ingredient had to be exact. If he had been working alone, Blaise wasn't sure he could have done it. As it was, he was merely in charge of ingredient preparation. Draco directed him with sharp, short commands, completely engrossed in what he was doing. It was soothingly boring, in a way.

"Five… Six… Seven…" Draco muttered to himself as he stirred the potion. "One… Two… Three…"

Something caught Blaise's eye. Harper had been busy shuffling back and forth from the ingredients cupboard, passing by Montague's table every time he did so. They were up to something, he just knew it.

Hermione made a noise and he looked around again. Daphne was backing away from her, smirking.

"What big feet you've got, Granger. Can't blame me for stepping on them."

He saw Hermione's hand tighten around the wooden stirrer like she was seriously considering shoving it through Daphne's mouth. She didn't though, keeping silent instead and continuing with her potion though her eyes glowed with annoyance. Harveste covered her hand with his and whispered something in her ear.

Someone hit Draco in the back of the head with a knot of Gillyweed.

"Four level teaspoons of dried Chinese Chomping Cabbage," the blond growled into his cauldron.

Harper, on his nth trip from the cupboard, would have jarred Draco's arm if Blaise hadn't 'accidentally' turned around and elbowed him in the face.

"If you want to experiment, now would be a good time." Blaise said conversationally, ignoring Harper’s grunt of pain. "Oh get up, you pansy, I didn't hit you that hard."

Professor Snape stalked up to them. "Is there a problem here?"

"Not at all, Professor." The brown-haired Slytherin replied, daring Harper to say anything.

"Hem, hem." Umbridge announced self-importantly, emerging from behind Snape like a horrible version of a gibbous moon. "Do you usually let your students' mischief slide?"

Snape barely managed to keep a sneer off his face, electing to sweep between the tables towards the Gryffindor side. Draco breathed out as Umbridge followed and began to ladle his finished work into a flask. Then he dropped the seahorse into the remaining potion.

"You first applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, isn't that correct?" She was asking, blind to Snape's dark glares. "And have applied regularly for it every year?"

"Madam," Their teacher finally said, drawing himself up and turning around to face her fully. "If you insist on asking me questions that have nothing to do with my syllabus and teaching method, I would appreciate it if we could hold this interrogation in the teacher's room instead. You see, I would actually like my students to _learn_ something today."

Umbrdige didn't look intimidated in the least. "Interrogation? No, no, this is all part of the inspection. After all, it is my duty to see whether you are fit for this post. With your - _hem_ , _hem_ -" Her voice lowered, and automatically every ear strained to hear what she was saying next. "With your _record_ , you can't very well refuse me, can you?"

"She's got quite the death wish." Draco murmured as his potion turned lime-green, a far cry from the teal-blue that was in the other cauldrons.

Blaise let a small smile quirk his lips as Snape's eyebrows drew dangerously close. "Looks like that wish is about to be granted."

"If you keep that up, sir," A nearly-cheerful voice remarked suddenly. "I could very well grow jealous."

Heads turned towards whoever had spoken. Draco, unfortunately, knew that voice all too well, no matter its chipper tone. "Oh _no_. What is he up to this time?"

Somehow, the pair of teachers had ended up standing next to Harveste and Hermione's table. Harveste, the irritatingly composed git, was looking up at them, as innocent as any baby. Blaise snorted at the Look that emerged on Umbridge's face as she stared at his friend.

" _What_ did you say?"

The brunette blinked guilelessly at her. "Is something wrong, High Inquisitor?"

"Jealousy? Her mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. "What are you implying, Addams?"

"It is a common emotion, madam. People feel them on occasion: jealousy, anger, excitement… lust." Harveste made to stand up, and for the first time since Blaise had met him, seemed to falter. He leaned to one side, and balanced himself on Snape's arm.

Blaise's mouth dropped open.

"I beg your pardon," He heard dimly, as though through a long tunnel. "I'm afraid I'm still getting used to these trouser hems."

Harry straightened up, but his hand remained lightly resting at the Professor's elbow. Snape's face had gone absolutely wooden.

"What is he _doing_?" Draco hissed furiously. "He's lost his mind!"

"Mister Addams, that is _inappropriate conduct_!"

"What? Oh. Terribly sorry. I seem to have gotten used to it after all this time."

" _Used to it_?" Umbridge's eyelashes fluttered, as if by blinking she could rewind what had been said. Blaise could almost see her thoughts swirling behind her squinched pasty forehead. " _After all this_ \- Addams, you seem to be implying a relationship with your _Professor_ \- a relationship with him _outside_ the classroom? Explain yourself!"

Her half-screech tore through the dungeon like the crack of imminent doom. It was not helped by the fact that Harveste's answer was a blithe "Certainly, Aunt Dolly, it’s not a secret. We see each other thrice a week after dinner, providing that I am not attending detention."

Snape put a hand over his face.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"You're going to drive me mad." Draco said morosely that evening. "Absolutely mad. Just the thought of _you_ and my _godfather_... blech."

Harveste smiled demurely. "Severus is a fine figure of a man."

" _Please_ don't. I'm still having trouble with the fact that you said all those things earlier."

"It was just a distraction." Hermione said, for the millionth time that night. "Get over it."

They had sneaked her into their dormitory under Draco's Invisibility Cloak, and had insured their privacy by letting Deidre coil around a bedpost and yawn at Goyle. Now they sat on Draco's bed, watching the cleverest witch of their generation weave spell after spell over a hand-knitted poppet. It was short and overstuffed, with black button eyes, a tiny ribbon on its head, and a crude little pink cardigan buttoned over its torso.

"Easy for you to say. You were actually privy to the fact that he was going to _hit on my godfather_."

"The Headmaster straightened it all out earlier. I didn't even get detention." Harveste sounded a touch disappointed at that. "And I _was_ telling the truth, darling. Severus and I meet thrice a week to discuss."

"To discuss _what_ is what I'm wondering about." Draco said through gritted teeth.

Blaise rolled his eyes and cuffed his friend on the head. "It was a really good plan, Hermione. We just wish you'd told us about it, that's all."

"Ha." The blond grumbled darkly. "I still don't get what we're doing right now."

"We're going to go through with teaching whoever wants to learn Defense. Even if Harveste doesn't want to, we can still-"

"Hang on," Blaise said. "We? When did I sign up for this? I mean, you can do it, Hermione, because you're you, and Draco's not doing much of anything now that he isn't on the team-"

"Yes, thank you for reminding me, you oaf-“

"-but me, teaching? I don't want to do a Lockhart and have people's OW.L.s grades hanging over me. I get enough of that from you."

"If you ever get to be like Lockhart, I promise to knock you out." She smiled at his apprehensive look and patted his knee. "You'll do fine. And Theo trusts you enough to ask you if he can join, so that ought to count for something."

"I still don't trust that bloke." Draco half-muttered.

"And what about Umbridge? She'll do a nut if she ever finds out about this."

Hermione gave her wand one last twitch. The poppet, which had been floating above the duvet in its own blue and gold aurora, dropped lifelessly onto the bed. _Something_ glimmered in the black button eyes though and Blaise would swear that it was looking at him.

"That's what Poppet is for. She's is going to be our very own Umbridge warning system. Thanks to the hair I lifted off her clothes while she was _distracted_ ," she stressed, looking at Draco. "I can have her react when Umbridge gets within a certain distance from wherever we are at the moment. I've also put a few extra charms on it, just in case we need a diversion. And I copied her wand signature, so we can go into her office anytime we want."

"You what?" The blond Slytherin gaped. "How the hell did you do _that_?"

"With elm wood." Hermione said simply. When Draco continued to stare uncomprehendingly at her, she sighed and pulled a length of wood from her pocket. "It's like duplicating a key. Normally, one person's magic is much like another's, providing they're not a Master, like Professor Snape, or a Lord, like Professor Dumbledore. The only way to distinguish between them would be with the implement they use to magnify their magic, in this case a wand. Newly-harvested elm wood is pliant enough to take on any nuance and porous enough to soak up the residue of a magical core. All I had to do was cast the spell and then stand next to Umbridge as long as possible. Any spell cast with _this_ wand would have the same signature as her wand."

Blaise blinked. It seemed so simple. "Can anyone do that?"

"Well, yes. The whole point is that they don't and don't expect it to be done to them either. Like I said, it's like duplicating a key or stealing. Anyone can steal anything if they'd just think about it, but they don't think they can, so they don't." She looked up from her inspection of the poppet to see the two of them staring at her as if they'd never seen her before. She started to blush. "Don't look at me like that..."

"Bloody hell, Hermione. How are you still in school?"

"Yeah. This is a whole new side of you..."

Her cheeks were furiously hot by this time and she rubbed them self-consciously. "Well, we can't all be kicking our Quidditch Captains in the face."

Draco groaned and pulled his blanket over his head. Blaise chuckled and rolled him to one side.

"So, about our lesson plans..."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

It was just after midnight in the Slytherin dungeons, and the last student had just given up on his homework and gone to bed.

The firelight flickered over the abandoned couches and tables, the shadows lengthening gradually as the house elves appeared and went about their business. A little dusting, a little tidying, and they were gone, leaving the room completely empty once more.

The door leading to the potions labs opened, and closed again.

The common room remained empty. It must have been, because there was nobody there. Nobody padded softly across the stone floor and climbed up the steps to the girls' dormitory. Nobody walked on the chilly flagstones towards the shower rooms, making the torches barely flicker with their passage. Nobody slipped into each stall, making sure that the curtains didn't rustle.

A fine mist appeared on the polished chrome shower heads and on the gilded taps. They glowed faintly before returning to normal. A more generous spray of pinkish droplets over the marble sinks and floor glowed as well. They took their time to wink out, one by one.

Nobody went to bed, satisfied.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Astoria Greengrass was a carbon copy of her sister. Even if she was two years younger, she was cut out of the same domineering cloth. This was why she was currently using Lysagora Arke's imported shampoo instead of her own. The scent of Alpine peaches filled her shower stall and she breathed it in deeply.

With a tiny _squeak_ , the hot water was turned off, and after a moment, she pushed aside the curtain, swathed in her bathrobe and toweling off her hair. She hummed to herself as she walked over to the sinks and reached over to wipe the steamed-up mirror.

A rotting corpse looked back at her, its near-toothless jaw agape. Between patches of greyish, mouldering flesh, there were patches of bone and putrefied muscle. Despite herself, Astoria let out a little whimper.

Someone was playing a prank. It was a joke zombie, of course. There was no way the teachers would let something like that in the school. Astoria berated herself for even being startled and opened her mouth in order to banish the image.

Then something caught her eye.

The zombie was wearing the same bathrobe she was, with the small double G of her family's crest stitched into the corner pocket. The top of it gaped open though, obscenely baring breasts that hadn't even developed before they had started to wither. Open sores were dotted over the chest and shoulders, oozing a putrid yellowish slime that she suddenly imagined she could smell. And, on its balding grey head, she saw wisps of straggly hair that were unmistakably the same inky-black as her own.

Even as she watched, one cloudy sightless eyeball fell out, pushed aside by tens of thousands of small, white, wriggling maggots that came pouring down, down, down.

Her breath came in ever-quickening gasps now, and the zombie in the mirror mimicked her horror, clutching at the lapels of the now tattered bathrobe. She had to look away, _now_ , she had to, she didn't want to see, she wanted to leave, but she couldn't, _she couldn't_ -

With trembling hands, Astoria reached up to touch her own head and met not the thick dark hair she was so proud of but spongy, wrinkled flesh. She pulled her hand away and saw it stained with yellow slime.

"We should hurry to-" Daphne began, stepping out of the next stall. When she saw her sister's petrified face however, her breath caught in her throat.

She didn't start to scream until she saw her own reflection.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Blaise yawned as he buttered his toast, silently wishing that there was coffee in his cup instead of pumpkin juice. Prefect rounds had ended late again last night and he had had to pick up a few students from Umbridge's detention. Since he had habitually done so for Harveste, it wouldn't have been prudent to not do the same for the other Slytherins, in case Umbridge started to question his motives.

Even if he was starting to question them himself.

Draco, on the other hand, didn't look tired at all. He had stayed out even later, and when Blaise, who had been finishing his homework in bed, had asked him where he had been, he had shrugged sleepily and fallen into bed, still in his potions overalls.

He was as chipper as ever this morning, outlining the difference between the Sloth Grip Roll and the Wombat Combat Swerve to Harveste, who had also gone to bed late. They didn't even look the slightest bit tired.

 _Must be an effect of the Low Call_ , Blaise thought sourly to himself as he opened the pepper pot and topped his breakfast with a few liberal teaspoons.

Harry sipped his ‘tea’ as the Quidditch tips continued to flow. "To be fair, Draco, I do think that these moves were made for brooms a touch more recent than mine-"

There were the sound of hurried footsteps and a sobbing Rachel Herippe suddenly burst through the doors, Madam Pomfrey at her heels.

"Dear me, she looks as if she's seen a ghost. Saving your presence, Baron Alain."

"No offense taken." The silvery ghost said gloomily, settling through the seats next to Harveste. "There has been an unfortunate accident in the Slytherin girls' bathroom."

"There is no such thing as an unfortunate accident." The brunette said with a small smile.

They watched Madam Pomfrey run up to the teacher's table. Though they were too far to hear what she said, there was no mistaking the cold look on Professor Snape's face as he stood up and followed her and the younger girl out of the Great Hall.

"Apparently there are people suffering some horrifying hallucinations." The Bloody Baron said monotonously, the slightest hint of a vindictively satisfied look in his eyes.

"So early in the morning? The lucky darlings."

"Which Slytherins?" Blaise asked, leaning in curiously.

"Most of the girls. There was a bigger than usual commotion while I was doing my rounds, screaming and such. I thought it was Peeves being his usual bothersome self, so I asked one of the female ghosts to look in for me. She thought someone had died by the racket the other girls were making. "

"I suppose no one actually died?" Harveste sighed when the Baron shook his head. "A pity."

"There were those who attempted quite vigorously to scratch their eyes out though. Felicitations on your wonderful work."

"Unfortunately, I cannot take credit for something that was not my doing." Harveste corrected. "I was... feeding the Thestrals last night."

"Is that so? Then it appears we have yet another sadist in the dorms. Never did I think I would see the day that there would be more than one."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You don't have to sound so happy about it. Draco, where are you going? We've got class in fifteen minutes."

His friend scratched his head sheepishly. "I'll catch up with you. I just left something in the potions lab."

"Hermione's right. He spends way too much time playing with his potions."

Harry kept quiet as he took another sip from his cup, his contemplative eyes following Draco as he left.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

A few of the Slytherin girls had had to go home to recuperate and Madam Pomfrey was busy taking care of the rest. Rumor was that there had been a need to fly in all sorts of calming potions from St. Mungo's and the sixth years had been roped into making Draughts of Peace for their homework.

Draco and Hermione, as the top Potions students in their year, had been preparing the ingredients for them every night after they had finished their dinner.

The weekend rolled around and once again Hogsmeade was filled with the happy chatter of students.

Hermione took a sip of White Rat and rubbed her eyes. "I never want to see a mortar and pestle again."

Blaise patted her back comfortingly and ordered her another drink. The grizzled bartender of the Hog's Head grunted an affirmative and disappeared to the back room for another bottle.

"If you're so t-tired, then maybe we s-shouldn't have scheduled the m-meeting for today." Neville, holding his Butterbeer like a shield against the bar’s more unsavory-looking clientele, looked at her with concern..

"But this is the only time everyone is free." Hermione sighed, then sat up a little straighter. "It'll work out just fine. Where are Draco and Harry?"

"Probably at the Quidditch shop. How many people are coming, exactly?" A dusty bottle was thumped down at their table and Blaise poured a fifth into Hermione's empty glass. "If there's too big a crowd, someone might get suspicious."

"I just told a few, those who were interested. Did you invite Theo?"

"Yes. I just don't know if he's- There he is. Oh."

Blaise blinked as the door opened again. And again. And then it didn't close for quite some time.

"This is your idea of a few, is it?" He asked her, once he had asked the bartender if there were any upstairs rooms and everyone had been moved and seated. Theo, the only other Slytherin, sat well away from the shutterbug Colin, whose camera Hermione had wisely taken away before any pictures were taken. Cedric was there as well, and to Blaise's surprise, quite a few of the older years and the entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team. There were a few Ravenclaw girls too, most notably Cho Chang, who looked at Cedric like a starving person looked at a branch of Honeydukes.

"As you can see, Cedric's a bit of an influence." Hermione shrugged. "Hello Luna."

"Hello." The pale girl said hazily. "I've got a present for you. For the Dabberblimp infestation in Slytherin. They like human girls, so once the dungeons have been disinfected, they'll go for higher ground. "

It was a thin rope of twine, hung with a few glass balls and chunks of what looked like rock-hard cheese. Hermione took it cheerfully and wound it around her neck. "Thank you for thinking of me."

"Alright then," said a snootily-voiced Hufflepuff. Blaise recognized him as Zacharias Smith, a know-it-all pureblood who had bit of an on-going feud with Hermione in Herbology. "So where's this bloke who says he's going to be teaching us Defense?"

A door opened. A mountain of bags tottered in, followed by a faintly smiling Harveste and... the Weasley twins.

There was silence, broken only by a muffled voice finally saying. "If everybody's done being shocked, I could use some bloody help."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The introductory meeting at the Hog's Head had been a success, if Hermione's gigantic smile was anything to go by. Draco, on the other hand, wasn't convinced that it was going to be anything more than a Cedric Diggory fan club. Blaise had had a hard time not giving in to the urge to punch Zacharias Smith, whose snootiness had gotten progressively worse as the meeting wore on. It wasn't until Harveste, sitting quietly the corner with Draco's potions supplies and watching over the proceedings with a magnanimous eye, cleared his throat that the argumentative Hufflepuff shut up.

And then there had been the issue about the name.

Dumbledore's Army, as suggested by the more Light-loyal of the attendees had quickly been vetoed. There had been much raising of voices until Hermione had cleverly pointed out that if the Ministry and Umbridge ever got wind of that name, it would spell nothing but trouble for the Headmaster. Hogwarts Army had been shot down for the same reason, and every other name that ended in ‘Army’. They were going to be studying for OWLs and NEWTs, the Gryffindor witch explained patiently, not playing at soldiers.

Deatheaters Part Two, Draco had quipped, and Hermione had given them a practical lesson in the use of the _Incarcerous_ and the Seamless Mouth Curse. Theo had laughed.

Finally, Hermione, with her penchant for concise names, had suggested the very simple Lessons for All-Inclusive Defense.

"Why not?" Blaise had said, grinning. "Then we would all be LAID."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harry had decided to name his broom Hodur after the unwilling kin-slayer of the Norse Gods. Though perhaps 'unwilling' was not appropriate, especially since Hodur seemed quite inclined to drop him into the middle of the Forbidden Forest from sixty feet in the air. Fortunately, one of the school owls flapped by.

He turned his head politely as the sound of death screeches and crunching bones filled the night air. High above him, the moon hung like a bone-white smile, just a few days away from showing her dark face. Absently, he wondered what he could sacrifice this time around, looking across the treetops to the turrets of Hogwarts. House elves posed little challenge to him, not like the centaurs, but they were just a few deaths away from storming the castle and he couldn't have that, even if he was partial to young foal. Perhaps merfolk...

Harry took a deep breath, tasting the scents that made up the Forbidden Forest. Aside from poisonous pollen and leaf mould, he could smell Acromantula and their nightly feast of cattle... the horsey, sweaty tang of the centaur herd... the dry scaliness that made up the many asps and vipers... a smoky, earthy, nearly leathery smell that was a touch familiar and...

_The smell of hunting even in the rain... matted, dirty fur and half-healed skin... the moon in her full bright glory..._

His eyes snapped open. Only one thing smelled like that.

Leaves rustled, his only warning before a large, dark form erupted from the canopy of the Forest, aiming straight for him. Harry pushed himself backward and off his broom. He noticed a hand -more like a claw- reach out for him and he deftly twisted to avoid it.

A cleaver appeared in his hand as he dropped, and he slashed a hole for himself among the branches and twigs that would have scratched and torn at his uniform. The Finuccis would not be pleased if he tore one of their handmade suits.

High above him, there was a bone-crushing thump and a yowl, as if a broom had turned one hundred and eighty degrees without a rider and caught someone a smart blow in the ribs.

Deidre, jarred from her nap, hissed petulantly and Harry cooed sweetly as he uncoiled her from his neck and draped her high on a tree. It would not do for her to bite someone just when he was starting to have fun.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Fenrir Greyback snarled as he came crashing to the ground. He had not been expecting the boy to jump; children were normally frightened of heights. The boy seemed fearless enough though. And that broom-!

A sound make him look up. He bared his teeth and rolled around until he was on all fours.

The dark-haired boy was sitting on a rock, looking at him contemplatively. He looked unruffled at having someone jump at him from out of nowhere - in fact, he looked like he was waiting for Fenrir to get up.

Foolish boy.

He sprang forward, bare feet drumming against the tightly packed earth as he ran, and swung his arm around to disembowel the child with a mixture of magic and brute strength.

But he wasn't there.

Clumps of grass and small rocks sprayed as he skidded to a halt. The boy had waited til the last moment then jumped up and over his head, scything at his unprotected back with what felt like silver fire. He felt his blood oozing from the cut and smelt it thick and cloying in the air. Cracked lips turned up in a feral grin.

"Who are you?" The soft voice carried in the still air. "Werewolves are not allowed in this Forest."

_He was prey, defenseless prey, young, beautiful... just his type of meal... but... where was the fear?_

Again, Fenrir dashed forward, keeping his body lower, more compact, claws digging deeper into the earth for more traction. He was expecting the boy to pull the same trick, and it surprised him when his quarry ran forward instead. There must have been a shield of some sort, because the non-verbal spells he cast spiraled away without connecting, and when he pushed with his hands to put more power into a sweeping kick, the boy jumped, grabbed his outstretched claw and threw him across the clearing.

_He was so fast! So strong! Why was this? He didn't smell of the wolf..._

His heart thudded deep in his chest even as he picked himself up, glorying in the prospect of a worthy adversary. No one had lasted this long in a battle with Fenrir Greyback.

Now the boy stood to the far left, head cocked and looking at him like an indulgent master would look at a troublesome puppy.

He started to run again, howling his dominance, and barely checked his momentum as something black and silver rained down just in front of him. One thudded deep into the ground just an inch from his toes. It looked like a long needle.

Hair that he thought was cut short now spilled around the boy's shoulders like black ink, shifting and coiling though there was no breeze. There was the smell of tin in the air and the temperature dropped noticeably.

"Will you answer me now? Who are you?"

He hadn't used his human voice in so long, not since the First War, not even when the Dark Lord had found him in the marshes of Ireland a few months ago and bade him to kill Harveste Addams. But there was something... the boy's scent... his stance... his lack of fear... the press of pure, dark power...

_In the back of his mind, the wolf howled longingly..._

"Fenrir Greyback." He said finally in a half-grunt, half-bark.

"Ah. I thought it was you, but I did not want to assume." The boy stepped closer, though still a fair distance away. His eyes gleamed eerily. "Did Tom send you?"

"There is no Tom. There is only the Dark Lord."

The boy had the audacity to chuckle. "Did your master tell you to say that?"

"The Dark Lord is not my master." He growled raspily, feeling the rage spread like a red mist through his bones. He was Alpha, strongest of the strong. He had no master.

"You call him Lord. You're not as free as you think you are. You're no better than a dog, for all that you run under the moon and kill as you like. You kill under his order, don't you?"

"You will suffer for your insolence, little boy," His words were short and clipped, and they rolled from his mouth like rough, gnawed dice. "And you will watch as I strip the meat off your bones and drink your blood."

Harry's laugh this time was nothing like what Hermione had been fortunate enough to hear in the Owlery. It was strange in that there was an undertone to it, as if there was someone or something else laughing with him, the sort of thing found in the dark caves of people's minds, with a hollow rumble that Fenrir could feel through the soles of his feet. And when the boy stopped laughing, he was no longer on the other side of the clearing but right in front of his face, so close that their breath mingled.

"Do you promise?" The boy asked with a small smile.

His eyes were as green as poison and as deep as an abyss, and Fenrir felt the call of the wolf as never before: Furious. Ravenous. Lustful.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"My Lord Voldemort, we've found Fenrir!"

Tongues of flame leaped into the soot-stained sky. They crackled all around him, devouring cottages that were once part of a large and thriving Muggle village. Now, there were nothing but charcoal stumps and blackened ruins. Farther off in the wheat fields where they had erected the pens, there was wailing and screaming.

There had been victory in this, once. But he felt nothing. He felt empty.

A Death Eater entered his field of vision and bowed low. "My Lord, Fenrir-"

"Is he alive?"

The high, cold hiss made the man, whoever he was, shudder under his cowl. "Yes, my Lord. Barely."

Voldemort, his smooth, white head highlighted with the destructive red of the fires, lifted his slitted nostrils and breathed deeply, unintentionally mimicking one lithe, smiling brunette. There was a new scent in the air, of wildness mixed with silver and blood.

The flock of Death Eaters that had huddled around the shaggy, prone form drew apart when a crack of Apparition signaled the arrival of their master.

Voldemort looked down and was impressed.

Proud Fenrir didn't even have the strength to stand. His gasping breaths were rapid and shallow, labored and bubbly, all the signs of a punctured lung. Grey fur was matted down with bloody mud, exposing a multitude of cuts, each one non-fatal, as if whoever had done it had known exactly what they were doing. The cuts themselves had the look of infection already. Silver weapons.

His legs had been broken, but in a surgically precise manner. Voldemort had seen enough broken bones to know that.

It did not matter. Fenrir would heal. It would be slow and painful, but he would and when he did, then he would tell his Lord and master just _why_ he smelled like he was in heat. It was unmistakable, even under all the blood. Voldemort's red glare caught the werewolf's cursed blue, and Fenrir turned away.

Tied around his arm, by the crook of his elbow, was a piece of green ribbon in a neat bow. It smelled like a mixture of Acromantula blood and beeswax.

"Did he take my token?"

Even though he was near fainting because of all the pain, Fenrir managed to growl out a "Yes, Lord."

"Very well." He turned his blood-red gaze to the clustered Death Eaters. "Take him back to his pack and alert Scabior."

Now, _now_ , he could feel something. He _hungered_ for the submission of the wizarding world, he _craved_ to see Dumbledore and his Order on their knees, he _desired_ power, such power, and everlasting life. But, more than that, more than anything, all that he was longed for the subservience of the one now known as Harveste Addams.

"Selwyn, go to the river. I want _them_ ready by the morrow."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

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…

End of Chapter


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll never forget when I posted this. The Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides had just come out, and almost all of my resulting comments had me itching to watch it. Turns out great minds think alike when it comes to killer mermaids.

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Myron Wadcock cupped his hands around a lit cigarette, relishing the warmth against his palms. As a Ravenclaw, he knew that smoking would kill him by increments and probably parade a host of ailments through his body before taking his lungs out, but as of right now, he didn't really care. The impending N.E.W.T.s were really taking a toll on all the Sixth Years, even in his House.

Everyone knew that the best way to expend some excess energy was sex, the second best being Quidditch, but since almost all their Housemates were buried in the Library, there had been no chance of either.

Andrew Ellich plucked the cigarette from his fingers and took a deep drag before passing it to the girl beside him.

Myron didn't know her, but from the colors of her tie, he assumed she was a Gryffindor. Andrew and he had just been sitting by the Lake, talking about anything that could help them take their minds off the tests when she and her friend, a tall, leggy blonde wearing a Hufflepuff tie, had appeared by the shoreline. Escaped from the Library, they both said, giggling. Madame Pince didn't appreciate anyone trying to catch a few winks on the books themselves.

Now Andrew was being uncommonly flirty with the Gryffindor, their faces so close they were almost kissing.

The blonde Hufflepuff blushed when she noticed him looking at her, her bare feet swishing a bit faster through the murky water. Myron didn't know how she could stand the freezing cold. It was a small wonder the Lake hadn't frozen over yet.

Now Andrew and the Gryffindor really _were_ kissing, and the sounds they made were enough to make Myron's cheeks burn. He cleared his throat and turned more fully towards the Hufflepuff.

"How about this weather, eh?" He said a bit loudly, trying to ignore what was going on behind him.

"It's a bit colder than I expected." She said with a small smile. "I wish I hadn't forgotten my cloak."

She had a really pretty voice, soft and shy with a lilt to it that was almost musical, and when she smiled at him, her dark blue eyes seemed to shimmer. Myron felt a burst of warmth in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fact that Andrew was now moaning. He shrugged off his own cloak and reached over to put it around her shoulders.

Up close, her eyes were _really_ blue and her hair smelled like water lilies. Her pale, long-fingered hands were a mite clammy, but that was perfectly understandable. Myron felt his heart beat faster and the warmth in his cheeks made its way down his throat and over his chest. He'd only felt this way about Gwendolyn Nutcombe - and come to think of it, this Hufflepuff girl almost looked like her - but that had been a lost cause. This girl had a reserved coquettish air about her, the sort of thing his mother had always approved of in a girlfriend and the thing had always secretly turned him on.

Maybe this was what they called 'love at first sight'. There was just something about her...

As if his body was moving on its own, he scooted closer and cupped her cold cheek, brushing his lips lightly over hers. He drew back to look at her, but before he could get very far away, the most beautiful smile bloomed on her face and she reached out for him. Her hands were still clammy, but they would warm up soon enough. This was _exactly_ what he needed to forget about N.E.W.T.s.

He kissed her again and again, the world falling silent around him. He couldn't even hear Andrew now.

It was like drinking clear cold water. With every touch of her tentative yet somehow eager lips, the heat in his chest began to ease, soothing coolness now overtaking it. Her tongue touched his and he shuddered in pleasure. It had never been like this with Gwendolyn.

"Tell me your name." He whispered against her mouth.

Her pupils were dilated, her eyes dark pools he could lose himself in forever. "I'll tell you. I'll tell you anything. Just say what you want."

"I want... to be with you"

She smiled, showing her perfect white teeth, and kissed him again. Suddenly, he felt so much desire well up in him that he thought he would die if he waited any longer. Dimly, he registered her arms around his neck, pulling him down.

His arms started to feel heavy, and he tightened his grip around her as she brushed her tongue over and around his. He loosened his tie and threw it somewhere before tentatively starting to unbutton her shirt. The cloak slipped to the ground, unnoticed.

As she ran her fingers through his hair, he felt something brush past his neck, then his clothes, then his legs. It was like fabric but damper, clingier. He couldn't bring himself to care though.

She felt soft, so eager and willing underneath his hands. There was a tingling sensation now, over her body, thrumming through his skin deliciously. This felt too good to be true. He wanted to see her face again, reassure himself that this was happening. He opened his eyes.

 _He was underwater_.

He could see the treeline through the rippling surface, and the setting sun's rays painted the water a blood-red. Somehow, without them noticing, they had rolled into the Lake. The tingling and the dampness had been the icy water, and now the knowledge of it rushed to the forefront of his mind. Why hadn't he noticed?

His ears started to ring with pressure and his heavy winter clothes were dragging him deeper. He pulled away from the girl in a panic, grabbed her hand and started to swim upwards, but in vain. Slimy weeds had wrapped around his ankles, the green tendrils crawling over his legs as if they had a mind of their own.

He reached for his wand to perform a Cutting Hex, but it was pulled from his hand. He looked around.

The beautiful blonde was gone.

In her place was a creature straight from a nightmare. Dappled scaly skin stretched tight over a bony face, and deep blue eyes that he thought so entrancing were now bulging and pupil-less. The mouth he had been kissing was full of rows and rows of needle-sharp teeth. Even as he watched, she put his wand between her teeth and bit it into three useless pieces in front of his horrified eyes.

Myron screamed but all that came from his throat were bubbles and immediately, he felt his lungs straining for more air. Claws clung to his shoulders and neck with inhuman strength and the creature's gaping grin stretched from ear to ear.

Her voice was the same though, but oh, how wrong it sounded, coming from the mouth of a monster. "Little human, didn't you say you wanted to be with me?"

He waved his hands, trying to get as far away from her as he could, whipping his head from side to side as his heart beat faster and he knew he had to get away, he had to swim, he had to find Andrew, and _oh gods_ , the girls had been together, his friend might be in trouble, he had to get away getaway _getawaygetaway_ -

The creature laughed, a clear bell-like sound even through the water, and she grabbed his chin and wrenched it to the side.

Andrew's pale face looked back at him with flat, dead eyes, lips already starting to tint with blue. Wrapped around his hips and shoulders in a parody of a lover's embrace was another monster wearing a Gryffindor's uniform. It grinned cruelly at him and flicked a long serpentine tongue over his friend's cheek.

"He will make a good meal for my sister, just as you will make for me."

Already his vision was darkening, and his struggles were weakening with lack of oxygen. The last of his strength went into fighting the urge to breathe in _anything_ , even water. It didn't matter though. He was going to die, he could see the promise of it in her dispassionate eyes.

"You wanted to know my name. Shall I tell you my name, poor little human? Shall I tell you what I am?"

_He was going to die!_

She loomed in front of him and her horrible face encompassed his whole world _._

"I am _Rusalka_."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Graham Montague scowled ferociously out at the gloomy November sky. There was a fine drizzle, not enough to obscure vision but still annoying. It was not as annoying, however, as the fact that Harveste Addams was present for the Slytherin Quidditch team tryouts. He had heard that the unpleasantly disconcerting boy was planning to take over the Seeker position in lieu of his pansy boyfriend Malfoy, but Graham didn't actually think he was going to show up. Addams hadn't even had a broom until a month ago, when a humongous two-headed vulture had soared into the regular flock of mail owls, nearly beheading a few with its razor-sharp beaks, bearing an ungainly package and an insatiable appetite for scrambled eggs.

Addams was by the bleachers now, a thin figure dressed in darkest green, almost dwarfed by the six-foot Zabini and by Diggory, that Hufflepuff pretty boy who had won far too many matches for Graham's peace of mind. There had been rumors about him training his team to the point of exhaustion, but the capacity for it had never showed in the bastard's face. He was a tricky one, and it was all for Slytherin's benefit that he had finally graduated. Hufflepuff would be _creamed_ this year, he'd make sure of it.

The Mudblood from Gryffindor sat on the bleachers as well - always by Addams' side like a paid prostitute, as Daphne liked to say - sitting by that fool Longbottom, Loony Luna and Malfoy. Graham's cheek, barely just healed from when that little shit had kicked him and broken half his face, twitched and he fought down a curse at the reminder of his humiliation.

He didn't know when Daphne had started hating the blithely smiling Addams boy, but it had certainly come to a head this summer.

There had been rumors in the pureblood community, especially among those who practiced the occasional bit of Dark Magic under the Ministry's nose; rumors of lights at the Riddle Manor where the Dark Lord was said to have killed a family of Muggles in the past, rumors of the Dementors' restlessness in the caged greyness of Azkaban, rumors of giant and vampire sightings, rumors of _the_ Fenrir Greyback and children disappearing into the night and, from the Soothsayers, rumors of His brand of Dark Magic flowing back into the world.

Daphne had been eager to join the Dark Fold and had already convinced some of the Slytherins to take the Mark. There was something strange about her this year, the urgent tone in her voice, her eyes somehow too bright and always lingering a bit too long in the direction of the Addams boy and his little group. Graham didn't care. There had always been something about them that rubbed him wrong, and of course, Mudbloods and Muggles had no business in the Wizarding world. Their power was unclean, not like that of purebloods, which had been blessed by the gods for generations. Their very presence was wrong.

He had his doubts about taking the Mark though, but they could be put aside for now, because the rest of his teammates were looking at him for permission to go onto the pitch and start teaching that runt Addams a lesson or two about teamwork.

Straightening his goggles, he strode out to the field and addressed the rest of the waiting hopefuls. "Alright, you dumb lot! Let's see if you idiots are any good! On your brooms in two minutes!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Graham could see Zabini's lips moving. He looked worried.

 _And well he should be_ , the Slytherin Captain sneered to himself. Daphne and most of the fifth year girls were still in the Infirmary. His grip tightened on his own broom. _We'll teach you to put curses on your own House._

Malfoy had grasped Addams by the sleeve and was most probably relaying some last-minute instructions.

 _Not that it’s going to be any help._ "One minute!"

And then Graham nearly broke his broom in half, because Addams had bent down to kiss Malfoy on the corner of the mouth, and when a scowling Zabini had pointed towards the pitch, Addams turned his head _and kissed him too_.

Graham barely took note of the fact that the Mudblood had received a kiss of her own, and the blood-red fan to boot, before the dark-haired - and utterly shameless - American walked onto the field, an ancient besom in his hand.

"Going to sweep up the leaves after we're done, are you?" He snarled at the smiling Addams.

"If you like, Graham." Harveste said genially. "Shall we start?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The first round of the tryouts had been rather anti-climatic. Most of those who had been after the Seeker position had quickly bowed out when Harveste had appeared. That left a few unknowing younger years and a few hard-headed older years.

Then the flying had begun and with it, the chaos that always seemed to follow an Addams.

"That was amazing! The look on Montague's face when the Bludgers avoided you!" Draco crowed gleefully over dinner with the Gryffindors. "And your one-armed Starfish! And the way you flipped back onto your broom!"

Blaise rolled his eyes and picked at his mashed potatoes. "Why don't you drool a little more, Draco? There's still a patch of dry floor-"

The fork thudded down just between Blaise's index and middle finger, the tines deeply embedded in the ancient teak of the table. The blonde shot him a glare before wrenching it out. "Keep talking and I won't miss next time. Where did you get your broom, Harveste? It's so... antique-looking."

"Fossilized is more like it." Blaise muttered.

"Shut up." Hermione nudged him with her foot under the table. "You did very well for your first time playing Quidditch, Harry. Though I did think the Thestrals were a bit much."

"They were hungry, darling, nothing I could do. I'm sure Madame Pomfrey has patched most of the team up by now."

"And the ravens..."

"Are naturally attracted to blood."

Hermione raised an eyebrow primly. "And Deidre?"

"I've become so accustomed to her presence that I'm afraid I didn't notice until...well." Harveste smiled.

Draco, who had just bitten into a turnover, covered his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter. The Black Mamba, already cranky and unaccustomed to flight, had launched herself at William Harper when the idiot had tried to pull on the tail of Harveste's broom. It was only a pity that Draco had milked her not two hours ago, otherwise the Fifth year would've dropped dead from thirty feet off the ground instead of just breaking a few measly bones and sporting two inflamed puncture marks in his ear. Madame Pomfrey had raised an eyebrow at that, but Draco and Blaise had taken it upon themselves to visit the Infirmary to 'check up on their Housemates', and Harper had seen something in their faces that made him adamantly insist that the holes had been the result of a botched ear piercing.

"Blaise, is anything the matter?"

The dark-haired brunette had been staring down at his plate, but he started when an ice-cold hand slid over his cheek. "Wha-"

Green eyes examined him minutely, and Blaise experienced a rare moment of indecisiveness. "It's nothing. I'm just...thinking."

"Thought I smelled smoke."

"Shut up, Draco."

"No fighting at the table." Hermione said firmly, staying Blaise's hand, which now gleamed with dull brass. A fluttering sound caught her attention and she looked up. "Oh look, someone's got mail at this time of night."

Blaise looked up as well, and was promptly hit in the face by a chittering Long-whiskered Owlet.

"Anaideia! Get off me, you fool owl!"

Draco had grabbed Harveste's sleeve in anticipation of the inevitable fistful of _senbon_. "You can't kill everything, Harveste."

"Whyever not?"

"It's my mother's owl." Blaise shook his head to dislodge when it started to climb over his ear, but it just cooed at him and started to re-arrange his hair. " _Anaideia_!"

Harry covered his smile with his goblet as he watched his friend, usually so reserved, collected and patient with everyone except Draco, fight a losing battle against the determined little bird. He was very obviously swallowing down some choice swear words as he tried to make the tiny claws relinquish the hold they had on the satin-brown strands without hurting her too much.

"She adores you." Hermione giggled around her spoon. "It's tr- _hoo_ love."

"That's horrible, Hermione. Never make a joke again."

The Gryffindor kicked out sharply and over the sound of Draco's yelp, she said "It's got a letter for you."

"Well, get it off then-Anaideia! Don't you _dare_ start nesting again-"

The torchlight picked out the sheen of hooded emeralds as Harveste shifted in his seat. The owl stopped in mid-hoot.

"Good girl." He said with a smile as it stood up, still on Blaise's head, and extended its claw politely.

It was a Wizarding photo of Syrena Zabini in a Grecian-styled arbor. She wore a pink-hued _stola_ with silver braid and her dark hair styled in what Blaise would assume a hairdresser would call 'attractive bedhead'. Even Draco, who never commented on anyone else's looks except his own, had to admit that she looked rather beautiful. She had an armful of daisies, and when she noticed them looking, she blew them a kiss and dragged a laughing, tow-haired, very obviously shirtless man into the frame.

Draco's jaw dropped, and for the first time in a long time, Blaise heard a scandalized tone in his voice. "My gods, he's got kiss marks all over."

A thin ribbon wormed its way into the photo, twisting and looping until it formed the words 'Our Whirlwind Romance'.

Blaise snorted indelicately. "Whirlwind Wedding, more like." He said dryly, noting the matching gold bands on their fingers.

"His collar bone is just one big bruise!" Draco gaped, wide eyes taking note of every single red-going-on-purple mark. "They're on his _hands_ too, and his feet and his...chest area."

The light of mischief brightened Hermione's brown eyes. "For someone who reads so many anatomy books, I'm surprised you don't know that the exact term for _that_ is nip-"

"There's no need to be crude, Hermione." Draco said stiffly, finally composing himself. He turned away and started to spoon sugar into his pumpkin juice, but no one missed the flush of his ears. "So that'll be your new stepfather then, Blaise?"

"Mmm." Blaise turned the picture over and read his mother's delicate cursive. "Telemachus Crane."

"Your mum's got good taste." The Gryffindor witch smiled down at the picture, where Telemachus Crane whispered something into Syrena's ear that made her flash him a coy, beckoning look. "He's very handsome, and he looks quite taken with her, though I think all that rough sex must've helped."

Draco nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Hermione!"

"Sex is what honeymoons are for."

" _Hermione_!"

The witch rolled her eyes even as she handed Draco a napkin. "Anyway, I think it's very romantic. Congratulations, Blaise."

"Mmm." Blaise mumbled again.

Harveste had Anaideia in his hand now, watching her tear into a plump earthworm. As if he had felt Blaise looking at him, he raised his head. Their eyes locked, and a small smile flickered over the thin, pink lips.

Blaise knew then that Harveste had seen the other word that his mother had written, but he didn't know if he approved. And he didn't know _why_ he wanted to have Harveste's approval. Making the choice during the Low Call was a personal decision. It shouldn't have anything to do with what anyone else thought.

Under his hand, behind the happy smiles of his mother and her new husband, was the word _Solstice_.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Draco had heard that the Room of Requirement had a requirement of its own before appearing: that the one who wanted to use it should make a few passes in front of its wall while thinking hard about what he or she wanted the place to look like. Harveste, after leading their small group to the seventh floor on unusually docile staircases, merely had to knock at the bricks.

The door had sidled into existence out of nowhere and its knob had looked completely bashful when Harveste touched it.

Now Draco watched the brunette position himself behind Neville, correcting his stance and guiding both their hands into the proper position on the crossbow. Draco didn't think any less of Neville for being a Gryffindor or the new Golden Boy, he didn't really, because Neville was quite a hard worker, had a good head for Herbology and was getting on steadily at Charms and Transfiguration according to Blaise, so he was very eager to learn and that was all well and good but _did Harveste really have to stand so close-_

"Alright, you've won this round." Blaise said from below him. "But if you don't get off me this minute, I'm going to break your knee."

Draco blinked. His best friend gave him a dour look from between his knees. "The loser doesn't give the orders, Blaise."

"I _am_ your Prefect, you know."

The blond rolled his eyes good-naturedly and began to stand up. "You say that like it means something."

"It means I could take off a couple of points for having such a bony arse."

"You should consider yourself lucky that you even got near my arse at all, Zabini."

"Knob."

"Wanker."

"Boys, boys," Cedric interrupted, throwing an arm around both their necks. "How does Hermione put up with you two?"

"Easy." Draco said airily. "I'm the handsome one, and Blaise carries the luggage."

"Stop trying to be cute, Draco."

"It's not trying if you're born that way."

Cedric chuckled as Blaise raised a brass-knuckled fist meaningfully. "Well, at least she doesn't have to put up with you in the dorms. Where _is_ Hermione anyway?"

Just then, the door to the Room of Requirement burst open and two things happened at once. The twins, crowing loudly about something or other, had startled everyone with their entrance, making all heads turn towards them. Neville, whose nerves weren't the best on a good day without a smiling Harveste behind him, squeaked and pulled the trigger inadvertently. The _thunk_ of the bowstring and the faint whistle of the barb-tipped arrow through the air halted all conversation.

Then Hermione appeared from behind the twins and something gleamed in her hands for a moment.

The clatter of the broken arrow falling to the floor was as loud as a curse in a cathedral.

"Harry, you really shouldn't be teaching him that without the safety catch on."

"My apologies," Harry said, still behind the white-faced Gryffindor.

"I-I-I-"

"We've a new invention!" Fred cut in excitedly. He brandished something that looked like a thick silver knife handle. "It's going to completely revolutionize the magical weapons industry. We're going to call it the Contrivance of Necessary Deterrents-"

"-for Onslaughts of Malice !" George finished for him, holding aloft his own knife handle, this one in the garish Gryffindor colors. "No one should be without one of these babies-"

"-it's the ultimate in protection -"

"-absolutely essential for a night out-"

Cedric suddenly snorted and put his hand over his mouth. Blaise looked at him questioningly.

"-so handy you can put it in your back pocket-"

"-or in your wallet, though to be honest, you’re liable to break it that way-"

"Wait a second," Draco cut in. "Did you say the Contrivance for Needed-"

" _Of_ _Necessary_. The Contrivance of Necessary Deterrents for Onslaughts of Malice," corrected one twin giddily, the words rolling off his tongue like frozen Cockroach Clusters. "Hermione was a fount of knowledge-"

"-absolute doll, gave us all these ideas-"

"-there are a few bugs, of course, but what new invention runs smoothly on the first go-"

"-and we couldn't have done it without her-"

Draco looked at Cedric, who was biting down hard on his lip, and started to smile. "Did she help you with that name too?"

"-for half a case of White Rat, not a steep price at all-" George prattled on, ignoring everything.

"-not like _some_ people-"

"And what if I did help them?" Hermione said hotly. "The Contrivance of Necessary Deterrents for Onslaughts of Malice is a great idea, modeled after the Swiss Army Knife. It'll be handy for everyone here, and it'll be easy to use once we get the kinks out-"

"Wouldn't be half as fun without the kinks." Cedric managed to say from between his fingers. His voice was strangled and his cheeks were red from effort.

Luna let out a gasping giggle and the Hufflepuff team were nudging each other. Neville blinked, confused, and Harveste whispered something into his ear. The crossbow dropped to the floor and the Gryffindor boy clasped both hands to his mouth to stop the laugh from escaping.

"-the name's a bit long-" Fred said happily.

"-but the acronym's quite easy to remember-"

"-especially in our little group-"

"Of course," Blaise said, now trying to school his expression. "And let me guess. Your tag line will be something like...oh, I don't know-"

"You can't get LAID without a CONDOM!" Fred and George burst out simultaneously, their Cheshire grins nearly reaching from ear to ear.

"Well, it's just common sense..." Hermione scowled as even Blaise gave up the pretense and started to laugh. "Oh honestly, grow up!"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harveste's first Quidditch match was on an unseasonably snowless day. The winter sun shone its pale light on the magically maintained grass of the pitch, on the bronzed goalposts, on the leather gear of both the Slytherin and the Ravenclaw team, and on one lacy black umbrella.

"Would it kill him to leave that thing in our dorm every once in a while?" Draco groused, squinting up at the hazy grey sky. "It's barely sunny."

"Forests shall shy away from the Drought, the Fire bow to the Storm, the Hunted lead a life separate from the Hunter. To obtain a god's strength is to acknowledge His or Her weakness, to take them and understand them, to make them your own. For in undertaking a weakness, there may one discover true strength and the reason behind it." Hermione said without looking up from her book. " _An Analogy of Allegiance_ by Newthorn Elverston, page thirty-five, paragraph six."

Blaise rolled his eyes. As the winter holidays approached, Hermione seemed more and more inclined to read herself into a coma. There was barely a moment when she _wasn't_ reading. They would start out their night rounds together, and somewhere between halls, Blaise would realize that she'd stopped to double-check something on her mind. It was common to see her at the Gryffindor table, a book open beside her plate and a utensil halfway to her mouth, forgotten. At the rate she was going, she'd be able to read the entire Library before the school year was over.

It wasn't her Low Call that was the problem, but rather her lack of confidence in herself and in the Old Gods. He couldn't blame her; Muggleborns rarely, if ever, chose to do it because it had all started out as more of a familial affiliation to the god or goddess of the land. She had no one in her family to turn to for help.

Her hair was starting to show her frustration, escaping from the normally neat bun at the back of her head and tickling at her neck and forehead with every passing breeze. Blaise conjured a hairpin, one of the things he could do wandlessly thanks to his mother, and reached over to secure a few strands behind her ear. She barely noticed.

"He has beautiful posture." Luna said in her dreamy tone as the riders mounted their brooms and kicked off. "It was nice of Madam Hooch to let him keep his umbrella."

"He got a note from his doctor." Blaise told her, keeping one eye on Draco as the blonde took an orange from his bag and began to peel the rind in paper-thin strips that he put in a jar. "I heard Umbridge stomping all the way out of Dumbledore's office."

"A note?"

"Written and signed by one Madeleine Addams, one of the Muggle world's leading experts on necrotizing fasciitis and other debilitating skin diseases."

Luna had a beautiful laugh, not as creepy as Harveste's, but then nothing could be. Draco just snorted and started sectioning the orange with an onyx-bladed scalpel.

He was making another potion then. Draco was becoming just as bad as Hermione, almost permanently living in his potions lab. Blaise was sure the fumes weren't doing him any favors. He was taking a cup of Cephalalgia Corrective twice a day now, and he always seemed to have a headache.

He caught a bit of the commentary and he nudged Draco with his shoulder.

The Ravenclaw Beaters had apparently been watching the try-outs and had seen what had happened to the team. Dumbledore had promised that there would be no Thestrals present and Deidre had been handed off to Cedric. Confident in this, they had herded the Bludgers into closer range before double-bat hitting one directly at Harveste.

Who promptly flipped upside-down on his broom, somehow still managing to sit side-saddle with his umbrella now shading his shoes. The Bludger whizzed by barely a hairs-breadth away from the umbrella handle.

"He has strong thighs."

Draco's hand slipped, the blade making a shallow cut in his finger. Blaise handed him a plaster.

"He flies r-really well." Neville smiled shyly up at them from the front pew. He was helping Luna make another anti-Dabberblimp necklace, which somehow involved loops of twine around his arms and neck. Not for the first time, Blaise wondered whether Luna had a bondage fetish.

"I couldn't help overhearing...I mean, y-you're doing research on the Low Call, Hermione?"

"Yes." She sighed tiredly, finally looking up from her book. "I'm going to do it this year. Harveste says it's something most people do."

"It is. B-But Muggleborns don't usually care enough to do it because we d-don't teach Old magic here." Neville cocked his head and cleared his throat tentatively. "W-would you like me t-to help you? Not that I think you can't do it by yourself, but I've d-done mine already-"

"Oh, Neville, would you?" At his hesitant nod, she flung her book away, nearly hitting Blaise in the face with it, and threw her arms around him in a big hug. Over his squeak, she gushed happily. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you! You're the first person to offer!"

"And _we_ didn't trawl the Library with you at all." Blaise muttered, rubbing his cheek.

Hermione ignored him. "If you don't mind me asking, Neville, who's your family patron?"

"Um..."

"LleuLlaw Gyffes, He of the Fair Hair and the Skillful Hand. The Longbottoms have served him ever since they came to the Isles." Luna carefully threaded a piece of quartz. "They are forbidden from invoking his name where the broom, meadowsweet and oak grow, and they may never own an owl."

Hermione blinked in surprise. "You know about this sort of thing, Luna?"

"Of course. It was one of my mother's passions. We serve the Enchantress Ceridwen in our family." The Ravenclaw snipped the twine and tied it off, holding the finished product up to Hermione. "I'll help you too, if you like."

"You two are the best!"

Blaise found himself scowling, but his head whipped around when Cedric shouted. "That _has_ to be a foul! They're going to kill him!"

The Ravenclaw Beaters were now completely focused on knocking Harveste off his broom, each of them guiding a Bludger, one to hit above the broom and one below. There was no way to escape.

And then Harveste did, and not in a way they preferred. Hermione screamed as he swung around the handle with one hand and vaulted upwards into the sky.

"That's an Atomic Avoidance technique!” Cedric was half-out of his seat now, head craned upwards. “No one's tried that since Sacha Brostovik cracked his head open in '57!"

Blaise closed his eyes, mostly because Draco was squeezing his arm so hard he couldn't feel it any more.

"He's pulled it off! I can't believe it. Where did he learn to-" Cedric's eyes widened as Harry, having landed back on his broom, did a downwards vertical barrel-roll that burst through the Chaser formation. "Gods, I wish he was on my team."

"Join the club." Draco muttered, finally letting go of the death grip on his friend's arm. " _Ow_ , Hermione! I nearly cut my bloody finger off!"

"Don't say stupid things then." She plucked the rest of the orange from his lap and bit into it with a sigh. "He's going to be the death of us one of these days."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

In the end Slytherin won, but not before Harveste had finished having fun. Professor Snape had quickly tired of all the death-defying stunts and had taken matters into his own hands by grabbing the megaphone away from Lee Jordan and shouting, "GET THE BLOODY SNITCH, ADDAMS, OR I SWEAR YOU'LL BE IN DETENTION UNTIL NEXT CHRISTMAS!"

Harry had responded by catching the Snitch in five seconds, and as the team did a victory lap past the teachers' box, he had winked suggestively towards the Potions Master.

Draco said he'd never seen his godfather's face become quite that shade of purple before.

Now they were in the locker room, crowding out the other members of the Slytherin team. Montague had looked like he had wanted to protest, but Cedric had loomed up next to him with a cheerful smile and thumped him on the back with a hand like a shovel.

"I can't believe you flew like _that_ with a broom like _this_." The Hufflepuff said in an awed tone, gazing at the aged bundle of sticks like it was a new set of weights that he couldn't wait to try on. "Where did you get it?"

"It's a Finucci. Wonderful workmanship, isn't it?" The slim brunette said, talking about a knobbly, unvarnished, untrimmed mess that had moss growing on the underside. "Hodur balances beautifully after its meals, though it seems not to like rabbit for some reason."

Harveste was unbuckling his gear with nearly as much care as he did laying out his weapons. Blaise glanced at the shin guards suspiciously before prodding one with a quill. It snarled at him and scuttled under the bench.

"Don't tease my clothes, darling."

Blaise turned to tell him that clothes didn't eat other people's shoes, but then his words dried up in his mouth.

He certainly didn't remember it being so long, but as Harveste pulled the last of -was that _senbon_?- free, his hair flowed down his back and shoulders in a sinfully soft-looking waterfall. Beside him, Blaise heard Draco squeak as he cut himself again. At this rate, he would run out of plasters.

"Oh _Harry_!" Hermione said happily, clapping her hands before reaching out to touch his hair. "I thought she'd made you cut it!"

"There was no such addendum to Educational Decrees Fourteen and Fifteen, but I thought it prudent to change my hairstyle anyway. It's a bit of a bother to fix in the morning but then I thought, what better place to keep the weapons I can no longer fit into my pleats?"

"I've never heard that before," Cedric chimed in. "Brilliant use of space."

"Thank you. And may this serve as a warning to you, though I'm sure Wednesday will try to disembowel me for telling you."

Neville paled. Cedric noticed and slung a companionable arm around his shoulders. "He's just kidding."

"Oh. T-that's good."

"She'll try to poison him instead. I just hope he hasn't built up an immunity to Streeler venom yet."

Harveste half-smiled at that before disappearing into the showers.

"Don't scare him, Cedric." Hermione said admonishingly. "Things are getting strange enough as it is."

"How so?"

"You've not heard of the missing Ravenclaws?" Lunas asked, blinking her huge dewy eyes. "The teachers are trying to hush it up, of course, but they say that Myron and Andrew were last seen by the Lake."

"They didn't turn up for classes yesterday and their Housemates say they didn't see them all weekend." Hermione said seriously. "Luna thinks they were taken by Aquavirius Maggots."

"It's just a possibility. The Giant Squid doesn't like anyone messing up its gardens so it keeps them away for the most part, but a few might have slipped by."

"Maybe Harveste's eaten them." Draco said absently. He was almost certain the broom was sniffing him.

"E-E-E-Eate-"

"What a cruel thing to say, Draco!" Hermione said, affronted on her best friend's behalf. "Harry would never eat _students_."

"I was joking."

"I certainly would not." Harveste said, stepping back out of the stalls pristine and fully clothed. "They would offer no challenge."

"Ch-Ch-Challen-"

"Always give your prey a fighting chance, Neville dear. It's more fun that way."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "It's not polite to play with your food."

"On the contrary. Mother always encouraged it." Harry smiled. "It works up an appetite."

"I'm sure."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Draco's preferred potions lab was where all the old cauldrons were stored. After a few Scouring and Repairing Charms, they worked just fine. A few of them were on the fire now, the lids clattering amongst multicolored fumes. Coils of glass and rows of vials and flasks were on the table on the other side of the room, the ample torchlight lending them the glitter of diamonds. Draco had picked up the wisdom of working in a clearly lit room from Granny Frump, of all people, and making his own ingredients was what soothed him when the chamomile stopped working. There was a chart pinned to one wall, detailing his progress for each and every potion.

Fred Weasley itched to inspect it, but there would be time enough for that later. Now, he watched the pint-sized Slytherin as he lit a fire on a raised plinth and placed a silver pot on it. There was a stand next to it, one of Draco's many books opened at a bookmark that looked suspiciously like a dried-out tongue.

"Fry the fillet of salmon in four tablespoons of sesame oil." Draco read out, his hands moving already. "When lightly browned, remove the salmon and add a knob of yak butter, a dash of red wine vinegar, two cups of finely chopped Icelandic parsley, two pinches of salt and pepper to taste. Then add one room temperature owl egg and whisk until fluffy."

George, who had always been better at cooking, measured out the parsley he had cut and dumped it into the pot. The oil-and-butter mixture hissed. Draco took it off the fire and began to beat it with a copper whisk.

"This certainly wasn't what I expected when you invited us down here for the experiments." Fred said cheerily. "I would've thought your lair would be all full of shadows and cobwebs."

"My 'lair'?" Draco quirked an eyebrow. "How stereotypical of you."

"Can't blame a guy for an over-active imagination. I mean, with Harveste as a buddy, you kind of expect the whole creaking doors and mad cackling and such."

"Harveste says cackling is a sign of a diseased mind, so it's only natural."

"Harveste this, Harveste that. You're rather fond of him, aren't you?" Fred grinned widely, waggling his eyebrows audaciously.

"He's my best friend, of course I'm fond of him."

"Sure, sure..."

Draco placed the pot back on the fire and re-introduced the salmon. Within a few moments, rich, savory smells filled the room.

George's stomach rumbled. "It doesn't smell like something that could cause grievous bodily harm."

"The best potions never do." Draco winced as his forehead began to throb. "Dammit..."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Hand me the vial by the toad eyes, will you?"

George plucked it out of its casing and handed it over. His stomach decided to voice its opinion once more. "This may be the one time I wouldn't mind trying out a potion. It looks delish. What're you adding now?"

"Three parts powdered cockroach to one part werewolf blood." Draco scanned the recipe. "Then a few drops of condensed Bubotuber pus and a pint of weasel urine."

Fred laughed out loud as his brother gagged. "The sacrifices of dedication, eh Forge? You go right ahead and taste it."

"Errr..."

"Leave it to me." Draco said absently. The addition of the last ingredient - so fresh it was still warm - had caused the salmon to dissolve into a pink foam that skittered over the golden-green liquid with a sound very much like _'Whee_!' "I'll test it on my House."

George raised an eyebrow and looked at his twin with a touch of uncertainty. "Are you sure? If we've done it right..."

Draco rolled his eyes. "We've done it right."

"But we haven't had a chance to see if there are any side effects." Fred continued. "We can't make any antidotes."

"So what do you care what happens to Slytherins?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Dumbledore had attempted to speak to the Merpeople about the two missing students, but they had not been forthcoming. The Giant Squid had retired to the deeper parts of the Lake ever since the first frost and there was no waking it.

The Grindylows had gone.

Dumbledore had wanted to cordon off the Lake and conduct a search but Umbridge, with the Minister's backing, had overruled him. It would not do to unnecessarily frighten the rest to the school for nothing. There would be rumors and dissension and talking between students about things that weren't in the curriculum. Myron Wadcock and Andrew Ellich had probably just cut classes, she had said with her toady little smile, and were stuffing themselves silly in Hogsmeade. A note to their parents would be written.

It was the week before the winter holidays. Cedric was walking along the shore with Hermione and Harveste, probably discussing the next LAID meeting.

"You know, I reckon Victor's on to something."

Draco, his teeth around a Sugar Quill and his nose in a book, looked up at the speculative tone in Blaise's voice. His eyes were focused on his feet, bare and just above the surface of the Lake. The dark water lapped against the dock they were sitting on, a hollow note in the otherwise quiet afternoon.

Blaise seemed to reach a decision. Standing up, he took off his cloak and began to unbutton his shirt.

Draco started splutter when he saw the expanse of naked back presented to him. "What in bloody Tartarus do you think you're doing?"

"Victor had plenty to say about swimming in cold water. He said it was good for the skin, the circulation, muscle tone-"

"Since when do you care what Cousin What's boyfriend says?"

"You've got to admit, he's pretty fit for a guy still in his teens."

Draco started to grin. "Blaise," he leered lasciviously. "Are you coming out to me?"

"Stupid git." Clad only in his boxers, Blaise slid into the water, clenching his teeth as the freezing temperature threatened to turn his blood into icicles. He forced his feet to move, and he paddled out further.

"You're not doing future generations of Zabinis any favors, you know."

Blaise ignored him, his limbs finally warming up, and he ducked his head underwater. The afternoon sun picked out the wavelets in silver, the rays piercing the murky green gloom.

He surfaced after a while, tossing his head to get the hair out of his face.

"You're a nutter, you are." Draco said finally, toeing off his shoes. "If I get sick, I'm not giving you any of my Pepper Up."

Blaise turned back to the dock and raised an eyebrow as his friend shucked off his robe and shirt, folded them neatly on a rock, then started to undo his belt. "So what're _you_ doing?"

"Nutters have to stick together, right?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Cedric held aside a branch as the girls passed.

"-a pity that you won't be eligible for another two years, Hermione." He sighed. "You would have been perfect for the job. I'll have to start the interviews as soon as the holidays are over, so I'm afraid I won't be getting LAID for a while."

Hermione smacked his shoulder playfully. "No one is ever going to let me forget that one, are they?"

"It is quite memorable." Luna said with a wispy smile "I don't understand why you're leaving, Cedric. I thought you liked being Professor Flitwick's assistant."

"I do. It's just that..." Cedric rubbed the back of his head before gracing them with a sheepish grin. "Well, I haven't even told my dad yet but...I got an offer to play with the Carpathian Capcauns."

"You're _kidding_." Hermione's eyes widened. "They're one of the best international teams in the world!"

"I didn't know you knew that." The former Hufflepuff said with surprise.

She shrugged. "Once you've been around Draco for long enough, you learn bits and pieces whether you want to or not. He's worse than Ronald Weasley. Seriously though, Cedric, congratulations."

"Thanks. Now all I have to do is tell my father and Wednesday. I don't know which will be harder."

"Who is Wednesday?" Luna asked Hermione.

"Harveste's younger sister."

"Then I would worry more about telling Harveste."

"Where is he anyway?" Cedric wondered, looking back the way they'd come. There was no sign of the dark-haired boy,

"He probably went to walk Deidre before she hibernates. She always hogs the fireplace. I still have to teach her not to bite the house elves when they lay the fire."

They pushed through the treeline and came in full view of the Lake, and the four figures swimming in it.

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are those _women_?"

"They look to be." Luna said.

"Who are they?" The Gryffindor witch half-growled, still looking out at the water. "Are they hitting on Blaise and Draco? While _swimming_?"

"A little flirting won't harm them, Hermione." Cedric said unconcernedly. "I'm actually surprised. I would have thought that the Hufflepuffs would have moved quicker. Blaise has quite the following in my old House."

"Those are Hufflepuffs?"

Cedric looked surprised at her hostile tone and turned to squint at the distant figures. "Come to think of it... I don't think so. I don't recognize them."

"Those idiots, they _know_ Myron and Andrew disappeared from the Lakeside."

Hermione stormed through the bush, her face thunderous, intent on hauling her friends out of the icy water and into the flames of hell.

"What's got her so mad?" Cedric asked, looking down at Luna.

"Blaise and Draco are not wearing school-issued swimwear. As a Prefect, she must uphold the rules." Harveste said, materializing from the shadows behind them.

Cedric turned. "How do you know they're not wearing- _Apollo's lyre, what is that thing?_ "

In Harveste's hand, a creature struggled. There was a blur of webbed hands and feet tipped with lethal claws, but all Cedric could see was its scaly bat-like face with a shark's mouth and eyes that glowed like blue coals. There were two knives in its back and one of the feet was bent back at an odd angle, but that didn't stop it from snapping and snarling at Deidre, who had coiled herself around its neck, dripping venom from her cave-dark mouth.

"A _Rusalka_." Harveste smiled. "It's a present for me."

"But those are only native to Ukraine!"

Cedric put Luna behind him, but she peered over his shoulder and blinked owlishly. "It looks like a mature Aquavirius Maggot to me. See how the arms are smaller than the legs? It's because they develop last."

"Filthy human spawn!" The creature screeched furiously, its voice high and piercing. "You dare speak to me-"

Deidre hissed warningly.

"If you wouldn't mind, Cedric, would you bring Luna back inside? I wouldn't want her to get her hat dirty."

"But Hermione-"

"The wench and her boyfriends will be a feast for my sisters! As for you-"

"Sisters?"

A distant scream made them look around. Blaise had disappeared and Draco was yelling something at a frantic Hermione.

Harveste stepped to the side and the creature - a female by the sound of her voice - choked on her words as his hand tightened around her neck. His face grew dark and his eyes had the sheen of emeralds.

The he turned back to Cedric and he was all smiles again. "Do bring Luna to the castle. We'll be there in time for dinner."

Cedric obeyed hesitantly, sparing one last glance towards the Lake-

-where a patch of water was boiling.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harry carefully unwound Deidre from around the _Rusalka_ 's neck, ignoring the teeth that snapped shut millimeters from his hand. She was a persistent little thing, admirably taking pain in her stride, even though he had cut both sinews in her legs and sliced away the webs between her fingers.

Wednesday would be jealous. She'd never dissected a specimen like this before.

"Unbind me!" The thing snarled at him, struggling against the wires he had slipped under her scales. They cut into the thin sensitive skin every time she moved. "You have no right, forsaken poison-eyed _czernobog_!"

"A 'black god'?" Harry chuckled. "You flatter me so. Did Tom tell you to say that?"

"Do not talk about the Dark Lord so freely! You understand nothing!"

"He's the one after me. I'd say that gives me the right to call him anything I want. How is dear Tom, by the way? Enjoying the breeze on his bald head, that sort of thing?"

"He bids you to join us." She hissed angrily, her eyes sparking with fury. Her face melted around the edges and began to shift from one beautiful feature to another. He could taste her Lust Magic lashing through the air between them as she sought the appearance of the one person he would not - could not - kill. Her weed-like hair went from wavy to straight, from short to long, from light to dark. "Unworthy, land-bound, hairless monkey that you are."

"I seem to be receiving propositions left and right this year." He chuckled a little. "And it is better to be a hairless monkey than a water demon who takes other people's mates as their own."

"How dare you call us so?" She growled, her needle-sharp fangs at odds with her currently angelic face. "You who are-"

He leaned forward suddenly, a hint of a frown flickering over his face. It was not a pleasant sight. To the _Rusalka_ , it seemed like shadows were seeping from his skin and out from under his clothes, darkening the snow. The Forest, always full of the little noises that signaled life, quietened and even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

"Mind your tongue please and give me Tom's token, or I shall have to take it from you and deprive Hermione of the fun she deserves."

She tipped her chin up defiantly. "I do not fear human spawn. You are the one who should show more distress. Join us or they will be eliminated."

"Oh? And how does dear Tom propose to do that?"

"You are a fool. We-"

Something whistled through the air. Harry stepped to the side and it thudded to the ground beside him, rolling to a stop in front of his captive. It was a severed _Rusalka_ head.

With a horrified wail, she turned towards the Lake.

A stream of fire burst through the water, shadows flickering in its depths. When the flames cut off abruptly, a charred body splashed downwards. Draco emerged a little way from it, an enraged Blaise struggling in his arms. It seemed the taller Slytherin was fighting to go back underwater to exact his vengeance. As Harry watched, his arm plunged deep into the water and hauled another of the creatures up.

There was another choked scream from further up the shoreline. Hermione had caught another _Rusalka_ around the neck with her whip, hauling it backwards through the Lake like a champion fisherman. A knife edge flashed in the afternoon sun.

"It does her good to get out of the Library, don't you think?" Harry said conversationally. "You were saying about their elimination?"

"My sisters!"

Draco had managed to pull his friend and his prey back into the shallows. Blaise didn't even wait to get out of the water before violently pummeling the _Rusalka_ in his grasp, smashing his fist over and over into its face and body. Hermione had walked up to them now, fastidiously wiping the dark goo from her blade even as she started to berate them.

Blaise made no sign that he noticed her. Harry had never seen him so... _focused_ before.

Then there was a faint sound of music. Hermione stopped in mid-reprimand, her brows creasing and her mouth opening in horror as she drew Poppet from the depths of her robe. Harry was almost too far away to hear, but he could swear that it was singing something very like Highway to Hell. Hermione gestured frantically and grabbed a still-oblivious Blaise's arm. It took both of her and Draco to haul him away, and with one last powerful kick, the bruised and bleeding corpse skipped across the Lake like an obscene stone before sinking.

The Gryffindor witch's head whipped back and forth, scanning the Forest edge until she saw Harry and his own captive.

 _She's coming!_ Hermione mouthed desperately. _Come on!_

"I am terribly sorry to cut this short," He said, turning around. "But I'm afraid that you have to give me that token. Now."

A low drawn-out growl was his answer, building into a terrible, piercing screech as she launched herself at him, all sharp claws and fangs. The ends of the wires fell to the ground, still sizzling from the corrosive poison in her blood.

Professor Umbridge rounded the tree just as he cocked his head and pulled out his wand.

" _Silencio_."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"I demand his expulsion, Dumbledore! _Demand_ it, I say!"

Aunt Dolly was nearly vibrating in her anger, her pouchy eyes glaring at the Headmaster. She had dragged Harry through the grounds and up the castle- or at least she had tried to. She was at least a foot shorter than he was and her upper body strength left much to be desired, so he had just resigned himself to a brisk walk with her hand gripping his arm in what she liked to think of as a crushing grip. It was a pity. Harry hadn't been properly manhandled in a long time.

Professor Snape had been summoned from his dungeons and now he was in one of the armchairs, brows drawn together in what Harry recognized as a sign of a pre-eminent headache.

"Have a lemon drop, Dolores, do." Professor Dumbledore coaxed, pushing the gilded bowl across the table. "Wasn't it you who said that we must avoid unwanted rumors? An expulsion so soon after two disappearances, and with no bodies to prove anything..."

"Order the Merpeople to search for them! Dry up the Lake!"

"Doing both those things simultaneously would negate any effect they might have." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the way Umbridge's throat convulsed as she tried to contain a frustrated scream. "Are you _sure_ you saw a _Rusalka_?"

"Of course I am! Or what was left of it after that...that..." Her chubby finger shook as she pointed it towards Harry, who blinked innocently at her. " _Student_ killed it! As High Inquisitor, I _demand-_ "

"That Mister Addams be expelled, yes I know. You know I cannot do that. In any case, I'm sure it was under justifiable circumstances, yes?"

Harry inclined his head towards the old man when the blue eyes turned to look at him. "Certainly, Professor. It was trying to kill me."

"A likely story! _Rusalki_ are harmless!" Snape opened his eyes and looked at the cardigan-wearing woman in surprise. "You tore its throat out! What kind of Dark spell did you use, you Pur-"

"Dolores!" The Headmaster thundered, finally standing up. Harry turned his face away as the scent of cinnamon grew. "You will not refer to my students in such a manner. That term is banned from this castle."

Professor Umbridge looked taken aback, her mouth opening and shutting like a gulping fish as she protested. "You must know what he is- what his entire _family_ is. I have already petitioned the Minister to file the paperwork that will ensure that he is interred in St. Mungo's until further notice. He is unstable, Dumbledore, surely you must see that! He is a menace to society-"

"I haven't heard that in a while." Harry said with a reminiscent smile.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Not now, Addams."

"The students are not safe from his kind-"

" _Dolores_!"

The scent of cinnamon grew stronger. Harry sneezed, completely ignored in the silent war of the glares that was now arcing between the two stone-still figures.

"May the gods bless you." Snape said grudgingly.

Harry shuddered delicately.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harry hadn't taken five steps away from the corridor that led to the Headmaster's office when somebody cannoned into his arms and started patting him over in concern.

"Oh, Harry, are you alright?" Hermione said worriedly. Her hair was a mess, as if she had been running her hands through it repeatedly. "I'm so sorry-"

"Calm down, my _fyglia_." He smoothed her hair behind her ear and brushed a kiss over her forehead. "You did well. You all did."

"But Umbridge saw- what did she do to you? What punishment has she made you do now?"

"No punishment. I have been suspended."

" _Suspended_?" Hermione's eyes grew wide. "But that _is_ a punishment! That's...that's...that's worse than an A in Arithmancy!"

Harry chuckled quietly at her affront. A large hand cupped his elbow, rough but gentle at the same time.

"Come on," Blaise said gruffly. "We can't talk about this here. Draco's waiting for us in his potions lab."

Draco was indeed, or something that looked quite a lot like Draco anyway. The shock of white-blond hair was the same, but the rest of his face was smudged beyond all recognition. He grinned madly at them as they walked in.

"Do you know how much pickled strips of _Rusalka_ skin cost on the market these days?" He asked happily, going from one simmering cauldron to the other. There was a fetid hint of rotting fish guts mixed with the caustic smell of either drain cleaner or really strong vinegar. "I could quit school and go to the tropics!"

Hermione simultaneously cuffed him on the head and began wiping his cheek. "Don't be stupid. You can't substitute money for a good education."

Blaise rolled his eyes but as he turned to go back into the Common Room, a freezing touch stopped him.

" _Vali_."

Blaise blinked at the fond tone. "What is it?"

"With the _Rusalka_ … you were mad, deranged, frightening." Harry's lips quirked. "It was beautiful to watch. What did she show you that infuriated you so?"

"I-What? Um..." Blaise blinked rapidly at the interested gleam in his friend's eyes. "Er..."

Draco turned at this, making Hermione huff, his grin wide and mischievous. "You really want to know, Harveste? It was-"

"Romilda Vane." Blaise cut in, shooting the blond a warning glance. "From Gryffindor."

"What?" Hermione paused from her self-imposed task of making Draco look less like a chimney sweep and more like a human being. "You mean- She is?"

"You're from Gryffindor, Hermione. Shouldn't you at least know the names of your Housemates?"

"I do know her. I was just surprised, is all."

"Sure you were." Draco said, still grinning.

"Romilda is very pretty." Harry smiled. "She will be very wild in bed."

Blaise choked on an inhale. "She's _thirteen_ , Harveste!" He said between coughs, his face as red as a tomato.

"Divination is for more than just predicting deaths, no matter how fun that may be." Harry patted Blaise's arm one last time. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to report to Argus. He and I will be working together during my suspension."

"Romilda Vane," Hermione mused out loud as the door closed behind him. "Isn't she a brunette?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harry tucked the mop under his arm and hefted the bucket. The hall floor in front him was clean enough to eat off, which he was sure Uncle Fester would recommend. He smiled in satisfaction as he walked back to the dungeons, making sure to avoid certain sections of floor. After all, it wouldn't be prudent to infect himself with the mutated strain of plantar warts that he had painstakingly daubed everywhere. The papillomavirus would be able to sense the sweat glands of the foot even under the thickest of soles. He was looking forward to seeing how Madam Pomfrey would deal with this new development.

Dumbledore had modified his suspension to include menial work over the holidays, supervised by Argus Filch. There had been a choice of traditional caretakers' uniforms, and it was with no little pleasure that Harry had picked the full-length black frock with the white pinafore that reminded him of his sister's. Aunt Dolly hadn't been able to say a word, since his suspension had been her idea and he was no longer in her jurisdiction for now.

It was a relief to get away from trousers, even for a little while. Their weapons-holding capacity was so limited. He didn't know how Father managed.

Working with Argus was quite enlightening as well. The man was a sadistic cesspit of foul ideas and he had a collection of antique thumbscrews that he had every right to be proud off. They had tea every other day now.

Harveste stopped a few feet from the entrance of the Common Room. His pocket was vibrating faintly.

He had kept Tom's tokens with him, taking the _Rusalka_ 's just before Umbridge had pulled him away. There was the faint scent of a tracking spell on them, not strong enough to anchor a Portkey, but just enough for Tom to know where he was at all times. It was a touch stalker-ish but it was interesting enough to keep him wondering what Tom's real agenda was, and if the man kept sending him creatures to play with, it was all for the better.

The one he had taken from the Dementors and had so magnanimously given to Dumbledore as a sign of their 'contract' bore the same spell. He hoped Tom appreciated that.

Now one of the fabric squares was glowing. He pinned it to the wall and stepped away.

The glow pulsed once, twice, then it faded slowly.

"How disappointing. Not even an explosion."

_A balding man was sitting on a chair, the faint luminous gleam of an Invisibility cloak around him. The Cloak was redundant though. Anyone with half a nose could smell the stink of cinnamon and jasmine a mile away. This was one of Dumbledore's pawns._

_There were tall shelves all around, filled with bright ball-shaped objects that Harveste recognized as the many prophecies hidden deep in the Ministry of Magic. The man was obviously guarding something and he was not doing it very well, seeing as he was sleeping on the job._

_His point of view was slithering from side to side on the cold stone floor. He could feel the urge to bite the warm, breathing, blood-filled thing in the chair, but there was something of importance here, something more important than food._

_The man moved, Cloak falling to the floor. Sleep fled from his blue eyes as panic took over. He jumped to his feet and an oak wand made its appearance._

_Ah, to bite or not to bite. That was the question._

Harveste blinked. The fabric square was blank again, the silvery figures that had played across it gone, the scents that had teased his nose already dispersing. As he continued to watch, the Dark Mark began to bleed back into it.

"Dear Tom."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Draco didn't glance up from his notes as the wall to the Common Room slid open. It was going to be a busy afternoon. His Conflagration Concoction needed stirring at five past two, then the Disfigurement Draught at thirty minutes past. There was also bats' blood to decant, Deidre to milk, Rusalka heads to stew, and he had to monitor the fires under Cauldrons Six to Fourteen.

This was all providing that he could get out of Hermione's Low Call research before he died of starvation. Lunch was already half over and the girl hadn't even thought to order in.

A cold hand cupped his chin, making him look up. Harveste smiled at him.

"Not in the lab today?" The brunette asked, icy fingertips still on his cheek.

"I'd like to be, but..." He gestured with his quill to where Hermione and Luna were sitting, surrounded by books and parchment. "She threatened to cut my bits off."

"Dear, dear."

Draco rolled his eyes at the amused tone and turned back to his notes. "I just hope Blaise is doing his part even though he went home for the Solstice. I wouldn't put it past her to send a Severing Hex with her Yule present."

"We wouldn't want that." A chair scraped beside him.

Draco looked up again curiously and found Harveste studying him, his chin propped up on one hand. "What?"

"You smell different."

“New fire retardant lotion.” Draco said promptly. "I’m trying a different formulation."

"That’s not it. More like..." A slow smile grew on the dark-haired Slytherin's face. "You smell like the Forest."

"Err," Draco fought down the blush and rubbed at his forehead absently. "Thank you?"

Harry chuckled at his discomfiture and leaned in closer, his eyes glowing like they were lit from the inside. After a few minutes of his silent perusal, Draco began to squirm in his seat. That look was never a good sign.

"Tell me, darling," Harveste favored him with a sudden smile. "Are you fond of Fred and George?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

.

.

…

End of Chapter


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

After Harry had told Draco what he had seen, the blond couldn't excuse himself fast enough. For all that he was opening himself up to other influences, Draco still put family above all else, like any true pureblood would. Harry barely had time to greet a curious Hermione and Luna before he was summoned into Dumbledore's office.

The Weasleys had been there, of course, the two youngest looking as inattentive as tortoises on a highway, yawning and rubbing their eyes. By contrast, the twins stood by the door, holding each other's hands in a crushing grip, just a few frayed nerves away from bolting out of Hogwarts and flying to where their father was. Perhaps in anticipation of this event, Professor McGonagall, stern as ever even in a tartan dressing robe, stood firmly behind Fred and George, her hands on their shoulders. Severus had been there too, the first person Draco had woken up so the small blond could browbeat him all the way to Gryffindor House.

Harry had given an edited version of what he had seen. It would not do to let the Headmaster know that Tom had a direct line to him. It would take the fun out of everything.

Instead, he had extolled the virtues of Professor Trelawney's exemplary lessons, thanks to which his Inner Eye had unexpectedly opened while he was doing his Divination homework. Draco, as jittery as an eyeball on a hot pan, had clutched his sleeve when he mentioned the Hall of Prophecies, but otherwise said nothing.

Dumbledore, predictably, had tried to twinkle his approval before they left. The silly old man probably thought that Harry was softening towards his side of things. In truth, the Headmaster should have been thanking Draco. If the blond hadn't cared enough to tell the twins, Harry wouldn't have either. But what Draco cared for, he had to care for too. It was all part of-

"I've got it!"

Harry blinked, roused from his musing as Hermione thumped her fist down on the book she had been reading. They were in the Gryffindor Common Room today, with the reluctant permission of Professor McGonagall. Most of the Lions had gone home for the holidays and the place was almost completely deserted. Still, Hermione, who had learned all the ways one could be spied on from the twins, had erected a N.E.W.T.s level privacy barrier layered with so many repelling and defensive spells that even dust motes avoided it.

"I've figured out the Order of the Phoenix." She said giddily, turning a very toothy grin to Luna. "Your father is a _genius_."

"It's the Plimpy Soup. He always has a mugful at breakfast."

"Whatever it is, encoding all this information," Hermione gestured at the stacks of yellowing Quibbler newspapers that she had ordered directly from their main office. "In such a way that you have to refer years back to connect the dots, it's just brilliant. Anyone with all the back copies and a Library for cross-checking and a month's worth of free time could do it! There's tons of things here about them, the Knights of Walpurgis, the Rotfang Conspiracy-"

"What're the Knights of Walpurgis?" asked Draco from behind _Myrddin_. Hermione had nagged him into reading it again even though she knew perfectly well that he had a _Vichyssoise de Guillotine_ to finish. She had gone on about The Balance, the capital letters locking into place like the lid on an empty cauldron, and the importance of keeping it. In the end he had agreed, if only to get a moment's peace.

"It's what the Death Eaters were called in 1970. Did you know, Walpurgis Night was traditionally time for the High Calls because of the positive, nurturing energy of springtime? All the high priests and priestesses from all the temples would perform sacrifices and hold games, that sort of thing. But non-Wizarding folk suspected them of calling on satanic powers. That's why the word has such negative connotations. Originally, the term 'Knights of Walpurgis' was just used for the human magic-wielders, while the rest of the group-" Here, Hermione pulled a paper from beneath another pile of papers, causing the whole thing to collapse, unheeded. "-hags, werewolves, giants, ghouls, _dhampir_ , _Rusalki_ and the other Dark creatures and beings that joined them were called Death Eaters. As the First War went on, the former's romanticism was over-taken by Voldemort's bloodlust, so it was the name Death Eaters that stuck instead."

Luna emerged from her everyday haze, blinking in surprise at the curly-haired witch. "You learned all that from the Quibbler?"

"And about the Order of the Phoenix as well. The Phoenix is the quintessential figurehead for the Light. Professor Dumbledore must've appreciated the symbolism of it all."

"A beacon of Light against the devilish Night." The Ravenclaw quipped.

"Exactly. Now I know who was in the Order during the First War, who died where, when and by whose hand, and with some educated extrapolations, I can figure who has joined up again. Though if I had your nose, Harry, I'd be able to do more than guess."

Harry hid a smile at her miffed tone and slid closer on the couch to kiss her forehead. "You have a beautiful nose, darling."

Draco rolled his eyes and went back to reading.

"Speaking of the _Rusalki_ ," Hermione said with a sudden speculative tone. "You never told us what _you_ saw in the Lake, Draco."

"Romilda Vane." The blond answered promptly, just like Blaise had told him to.

"That was the form Blaise's _Rusalka_ took. Allegedly." The witch added, a knowing smile at the corner of her lips. "I was talking about yours. Or don't you want to tell us who you have a crush on?"

"Stop digging for gossip." Draco scowled at her over the edge of the book. "I didn't see anything."

"Right."

"I'm telling the truth. The _Rusalki_ were more focused on Blaise. They didn't notice me at all." He sniffed at the reminder. "It was their loss, of course. I'm clearly more attractive than him."

"But it's Blaise who has half of Hufflepuff drooling over him." Luna nudged Hermione's shoulder, and they both giggled. Harry blinked. "And it's not just the girls either. I've heard that they've formed a little club and Colin's been taking pictures for them. For a fee, of course. He plans to buy a new camera with the money."

"Why should I care about some blind Hufflepuffs?" Draco said through gritted teeth. "If all you're going to do is mess with me, then I'm going back to the potions lab."

"Then you won't find out what Harry saw." Hermione tipped her chin up, unimpressed by his fit of temper. "How about it, Harry? What did the _Rusalka_ show you? Who's your ideal mate?"

Despite himself, Draco felt his ears prick up and strain to hear.

Harry's smile widened and he chuckled behind his fan. "I don't know, darling. She couldn't seem to make up her mind."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Fresh snow crunched underfoot as Harry made his way into the Forbidden Forest. Argus was busy fixing a leak in the dungeons and had left him to do Hagrid's duties. The half-giant had been bed-ridden for the past few days. A life-threatening fever, the lucky man, with plenty of heavy bruises and deep cuts for some reason. Harry had put a pail by the bedside in case he wanted to be sick, a young Skrewt under the covers to keep him warm, and a knife by the table in case he wanted to end it all.

He had finished clearing the pumpkin patch before going to look for wild Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had been knitting them mittens for the cold weather. They would struggle a bit, she had told him as she puttered around her personal greenhouse, but they shouldn't give him much trouble. Harry had agreed with a smile as he strapped the trowel next to another hidden knife.

The Mandrakes hadn't been any trouble at all. In fact, they had been quite docile after the first few bodies.

Now a wind blew past his face, bringing with it-

_Smoke from roasting pits...goats' blood...good loam...the faintest trace of Tom's brand of Dark Magic...mountain furze...the scent of pine..._

Harry wrinkled his nose delicately. Pine didn't grow in the Forbidden Forest.

His fan was stark carmine against the pristine white of the snow, a beacon for hunter and prey alike. The denizens of the Forest knew better than to attack such a blatant signal by now, which was such a pity.

He followed the scent into a clearing barricaded by uprooted saplings and half-rotten tree trunks. The ground was well-trodden down and someone had taken the trouble to stretch a large tarp about thirty feet off the Forest floor to protect the clearing against the elements. That someone, Hagrid by the smell of it, had also put up a web of thick ropes, all anchored around a young giant.

A mountain giant, in the Forbidden Forest, with Hagrid's scent all around it. That explained the man's bruising.

Harry rolled to the side half a second before a huge boulder came crashing down where he had been standing. A territorial roar shook the trees, startling a flock of birds into flight.

"GRAWP!" The giant growled in a voice that made the earth rumble. He thumped his chest with a great fist and roared again "GRAWP!"

Harry mentally reviewed his knowledge of Giant language. Granny Frump had been quite the explorer in her time: learning new languages as she traveled the world, picking up cooking techniques and questionable medical practices, most of them the same thing, making new friends and serving them up to each other for dinner. It was what Harry hoped to do after graduation.

The giant spoke in a way that was distinctive to Belarus-based giants, but the name Grawp was not in that dialect. It was more of an insult than a name, in fact. It meant 'Skin-off-Pebble', most probably because he was one of the smallest giants Harry had ever seen.

It would be no challenge at all to kill such a small giant who looked to be barely out of his thirties, making him little more than a teenager. That, and the fact that Hermione would be supremely elated to find a real live giant tp spar with, made him jump down from a tree and approach Grawp with a sledgehammer instead of a handful of _senbon_.

After all, the language of the giants heavily relied on violence and Harry was very good at getting his point across.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Uncle Liverworth and Uncle Lumeno's Yuletide presents arrived a few days early, strapped onto a very hungry Twinkles' leg. Draco had already hogtied the plate-stealing vulture with a string of sausages when Hermione had hit him on the head with his present from the new Addams Uncles. The both of them had received books, while Harry had gotten...

"A pack of cigarettes?" Hermione asked as she finished putting a Thieves' Curse on her new property. "I didn't know you smoked, Harry."

"Wednesday and I tried to stop when we were eight, but Father does insist on family traditions so. It's only once a year."

"An auspicious Yule, everyone." Luna said dreamily from behind Draco, who yelped and nearly fell off the bench. "Or Christmas, if you prefer. I'll give you my presents now because the Kallikantzaroi like to take the wrapping paper."

"Thank you, Luna." Hermione said politely, taking the bright purple-wrapped package offered to her. "I'm afraid I've already given the house elves your present to be delivered. That's alright, isn't it?"

"House elves are Kallikantzaroi-proof, as you well know. Anyway, I've made them some necklaces."

"That was nice of you."

"Err..."

Draco, whose lack of patience often resulted in him falling for booby-traps more times than was acceptable, had already taken off the lid on the slim box Luna had given him. Now he lifted out a twine necklace of his own, bristling with feathers, bits of shells, and what looked like a set of disturbingly human teeth.

"From a three-year old Thestral." The younger blond explained, as if it was an everyday item that anyone could come by. "They protect you from getting struck by lightning, falling branches, garden mold and dandruff."

"Oh. Well...thanks, Luna."

Harry hid a smile. It hadn't been that long ago when Draco would have taken someone to the cleaners for even insinuating that he could develop anything as unbecoming as a pimple, let alone dandruff. Perhaps it was the spirit of the season.

"What did you get, Harry?" Hermione asked, seeing the unwrapped jar in his hands. "Pickled eggs?"

The jar, wreathed with an inordinate amount of tinsel, was filled almost to the brim with soft-looking whitish bulbs floating in a brownish-yellow solution. As he tilted it to the side, one of the bulbs swiveled around in the liquid...

Eyelashes parted slowly, revealing a mad, bloodshot eye that glared malevolently back at them.

"I don't want to know where you got those, Luna." Hermione muttered.

"I would. They look well-preserved. Mine go all manky after a few days." Draco looked up to see all eyes - _all_ eyes- staring at him. "What?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harry dropped a dog-end into the thickening potion he was stirring with a lizard's claw and stepped back. Smoke began to billow from the center of it, overflowing over the cauldron sides and onto the floor, filling the room with the smell of dog sweat and rancid vomit. Perhaps if he kept it boiling long enough, Hogwarts would start smelling like home.

Uncle Liverworth's mad grin appeared in the soup fog like the more deranged sort of Cheshire cat. "Harry! Happy Christmas!"

"And to you, Uncle." Harry smiled at the pure enthusiasm in man's voice. "What will you be doing today?"

"Playing Wake-the-Dead with Pubert. He's quite the dab hand at a shovel now. And later we'll be pouring baby oil on some carolers. I think I've almost convinced Lurch to change it to boiling tar instead, and Fester is looking to blow up some doves for the feathers."

"I wish I could be there." Harry angled his head to the side. "Uncle Lumeno is not with you?"

"Oh." The smile melted off his Uncle's face like butter under a blowtorch. "He's off with some bird he picked up in a bar. Their fourth date or something, not that I'm counting."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"It's a werewolf pack thing, Cousin It says. At least he's not going out there and biting anyone that takes his fancy."

"Yes, that is a pity." He took a deep breath. Under the odious scent that spoke to his homesickness, something full and dark teased his nose. "I can smell your jealousy from here, you know."

The man smiled sheepishly, the expression turning his face boyish and near-angelic, a bit like Draco looked when he was asleep - which, come to think of it, was becoming quite a rare occurrence nowadays. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"Try harder, Uncle Liverworth. May I ask _why_ you are so jealous?"

"Over nothing really. He always comes back anyway. How are your holidays going?" He said, changing the subject quickly. "I hear you got suspended. Gomez was over the moon about it."

"It is quite the accomplishment." Harry said demurely. "I did not know how far I had to go to get suspended around here, let alone expelled."

"Tell me about it." Liverworth chuckled, his embarrassment now waning in the wake of remembered mischief. " _I_ never even got as far as that, even though I nearly fed Snivellus to a hungry werewolf. How is the greasy old bat, by the way?"

"Still alive. We are working...very closely nowadays."

His godfather made a face. "Not too close, I hope."

Harry smiled teasingly. "As I told Draco, Severus is quite attractive for a man his age. And he tastes like-"

Liverworth's face turned green and he mimed throwing up. "I don't want to hear it! I'd rather hug a maggot-filled corpse."

He smothered a chuckle. "What a delicate constitution you have, Uncle."

"Only when it comes to Snivellus. How are your friends? Is Hermione having fun teaching Defense?"

"Her methods are quite effective. Neville hasn't dropped a knife in the past few days. I'm sure he'll be able to throw it soon." Harry sighed to himself. "The boy makes such a wonderful target, Uncle, I wish you could see him."

"He's not supposed to be a target." Now his Uncle frowned up at him through the mist. His moods were like unstable mercury fulminate, each one capricious and quick to disperse. "Are you sure about this? Training Neville to be the Savior in Harry Potter's place? I didn't think you'd actually do anything that Dumbledore asked you."

"We have an understanding. I am well-compensated, if that's what you're worrying about."

His Uncle's eyes were serious, hard and flinty instead of the warm gray they usually were. "It's not that. This is Dumbledore we're talking about. When I was in school...well,, honestly, I was an arrogant, over-confident pillock. I'm sure Snape's told you that once or twice."

"Sometimes it is all he talks about. It can be quite the mood killer."

Liverworth's expression flickered from determined to disgusted in an instant. "You know, if Draco or Blaise ever heard you talking like that-"

Harry chuckled. "Let's not get distracted now. You were saying about Dumbledore?"

"Yes, well, the point is I should have never graduated after I pulled that trick on Snivellus, beak-nosed little snot though he was at the time. I mean, look at Hagrid. They couldn't even prove that he had anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets and he still got expelled. But Dumbledore, he fixed everything so what I did almost never happened. It isn't even on my record. I could have been an Auror if I wanted, if bloody Peter hadn't ruined everything. What I'm trying to say, Harry, is that Dumbledore can be wily, manipulative at times. He likes to pull other people's strings to get what he wants."

"I know. He has tried, numerous times." Harry saw the worried look in the other man's eyes. "He insists on following the Prophecy step by step. It is not my concern if he is turning foolhardy in his old age. In any case, I am not doing this for him. Neville is owed something by this world and I intend to see that he gets it. He is a quick study. Blaise tells me he will soon be averaging an Acceptable in Transfiguration."

"An Acceptable in Transfiguration isn't going to defeat Voldemort, Harry, not unless he can Transfigure a man into a kitten or something equally harmless."

Harry shuddered. "Please, do not speak of kittens. I had enough of them when Uncle Lumeno was Professor here."

"Nevertheless, Harry, you should teach him to at least maim something. I don't think the boy could even put a rabbit on a spit. He's the sort of kid who'd bust out crying over the first sight of blood."

"All he needs is confidence. Don't worry so, Uncle."

"Harry," Liverworth sighed. "It doesn't have to be him, you know."

"I know. But he is owed. There is a balance to be kept."

" _What_ is he owed, Harry? What could be so important?"

"You know what happened to his parents, godfather? To Frank and Alice Longbottom?"

His Uncle blinked up at him, then slowly, understanding dawned in his eyes. "They were driven mad by Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Exactly." Harry leaned forward until his nose was nearly brushing the surface of the potion. The light glancing off the surface of the mist cast dark shadows on his face. "Neville is owed _revenge_."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"-and _that_ , boys and girls, is how a vivisection is done on a Jobberknoll."

Harry smiled beatifically at the group assembled in the Room of Requirement. No one was looking at him though. Every single horrified, unblinking eye was on the magical screen he stood in front of, still showcasing a magnified blood-red heart that beat between exposed bones and sliced yet still-pulsing pinkish flesh.

Neville, who had bravely returned to Hogwarts a full week before the start of classes, had thrown up after the first incision. A few of the girls had fainted when Harry had brought out the tiny rib spreaders, and even Cedric had looked a little green at the sound of the sharp crack of bone.

"That concludes the first half of today's lesson. If you will all assemble by the weapons rack in fifteen minutes, we will continue." announced the slim brunette. Behind him, the tiny bright blue bird attempted to flutter its pinned-down wings. There was a fresh wave of retching.

"Very informative, Harry." Hermione said, walking up to him while trying not to look anywhere except the amused green eyes. "And it’s... still alive. How do you manage it?"

"It's all in the wrist, darling. Most things are."

Draco, comfortingly patting Neville on the back, glared at Cedric as the boy somehow managed to chuckle.

"And I suppose you chose the Jobberknoll because its musculoskeletal system resembles that of a human being?" Luna asked. She had been taking notes.

"A good observation. Naturally, I would have displayed a more...accurate specimen but I doubt the Headmaster would have approved, even if it is for educational purposes." Harry waved a hand and the dissection table disappeared, along with the Jobberknoll. The Room had its own ways of disposing things. "How was your visit with Mr. Weasley yesterday, Hermione?"

"He's supposed to be released today. St. Mungo's has a department for non-magical remedies, but their knowledge is appallingly medieval. Did you know, they tried to stitch his wound up with sheep's intestines? I mean, of _course_ they would dissolve in the poison. And they did it with a regular sewing needle!"

 _"_ How wonderfully painful that must have been. _"_

"Not as painful as the ear-bashing his wife gave him when she found out." Hermione stifled a giggle at the memory. "Anyway, Draco managed to get them some decent suture thread from the hospital on the next street over."

"Did he now? And how did he come by this suture thread?"

"I stole it." Draco said without preamble as they approached the middle of the room. "And don't look at me like that, Hermione. I only took the sutures. And maybe a few stents. And some titanium scalpels, because mine keep melting and I haven't written to Father for replacements yet."

Hermione raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"And three bone saws and a microscope." Draco didn't look the least bit apologetic. "No one was using them. They were just sitting there."

A few students, those who hadn't run away, sat on benches that floated a foot off the floor. Between the benches was the weapons table, though it seemed the Room had been a touch sparse with them today. There were no blades of any sort, only a collection of sticks that were all of different sizes, shapes and materials

Hermione picked up one that fit in the palm of her hand. When she closed her fingers around it, two slightly rounded knobs protruded from her fist. She looked at Harveste, excitement gleaming in her brown eyes.

"This is a _yawara_! I've never used one before." She gushed, her giddy, girlish demeanor completely at odds with the fact that she had picked up another weapon, this one a blackthorn shillelagh. "Are we giving a practical demonstration, Harry?"

"Of a sort."

Luna cocked her head for a moment, then reached for an expandable baton. "I would like to participate. I have not had much practice with blunt weaponry, an unacceptable oversight when you consider Wrackspurts."

"Certainly, Luna. And you, Draco, Cedric?"

The blond shrugged and picked up a pair of slim side-handled clubs, while Cedric, looking a little apprehensive, picking up a reassuringly heavy baseball bat.

"Very well then."

"Hang on. We're not fighting _you_ , are we, Harveste?"

"Not while I'm teaching, I'm afraid." Hodur appeared beside Harry and he perched primly on it. As it rose up in the air, so did the benches. Neville hung on for dear life. "But I promise your opponent will be challenging enough."

A large padlocked trunk materialized on the now otherwise empty floor. It rattled ominously.

The torches flickered and seemed to dim as Harry began to speak on the merits of knowing how to beat your opponent senseless before he or she could cast a single spell.

"You don't suppose he's found a Boggart, do you?" Hermione asked Draco as they instinctively stood back to back. "I don't think I could face a poorly-scored exam this close to O.W.L.s."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"-trunk was full of snakes, tons of them, just crawling everywhere, you should've seen it!"

The Great Hall was filled with the buzz and hum of students busily trying to do the last of their homework as they ate breakfast. Owls fluttered in and out of the windows in great feathery droves, bringing packages of left-behind socks, quills and, in the case of the Weasley twins, the occasional Howler.

Blaise, tanned to a glorious bronze thanks to the Greek sun, sat patiently listening to Draco while he buttered a slice of toast. Harveste saw quite a few heads turn to admire the bare muscled arms and the mess of mahogany hair that glinted gold in the morning sunlight. An obliviously chattering Draco was the target of many a dirty look as he attempted to sling his arm around his friend's broad shoulders. It was a lost cause however, and he settled for just stealing the fruit right off his plate.

"There were a couple of Runespoors too, the foul-mouthed raving little monsters that they are." The blond continued, gesturing with a piece of pilfered apple. "I kept one alive for the venom. Are you going to eat _all_ of that?"

The last was directed at the very tall stack of buttered toast that Blaise was now spreading marmalade on.

"Yeah, if you're going to keep taking stuff off my plate like that. I've got to have _something_ for breakfast."

There was a difference in scent too, not as pronounced as Draco's, but it was there. Even his voice had changed. It was a bit rougher, a touch deeper, not that anyone who hadn't been paying attention for five years would notice.

"You're big enough already." Harry smiled into his goblet as Draco went from good-humored to sarcastic in a second. "Leave a little height for the rest of us."

"It's not my fault your growth spurt hasn't gotten the message."

"Asshole."

"Such a foul mouth so early, darling? I'm so proud. Hello, Colin." Harry added before turning around. "Taking pictures of Blaise again?"

Blaise made a low noise in his throat, but the young Gryffindor just grinned happily at him, utterly unashamed at being caught out. He reminded Harry of a smaller, thinner, no less obsessed Pugsley.

"I wanted to try out my new camera." Colin chirped, holding up what looked like a small hand-held washing machine. "It's a modified instant camera with the Motion Solution directly on the self-developing negative. See, here, take this one - hey, that's weird."

Draco glanced down at the picture and squeaked, dropping his pear as he made a grab for the film. His fingers grazed tantalizingly over it before Harry pulled it away.

"Harveste, give it here!"

A slim black eyebrow arched at him, and even Blaise looked surprised at his outburst. "What, are your roots showing or something?"

"How dare you- This is my natural hair color!" Draco snarled at him before turning back to the thin brunette, whose vaguely amused eyes were now intent on the Polaroid in his hands. "Harveste, _please_."

"As you wish. But you need not worry, darling."

The picture was as cold as ice, but it couldn't compare to the glacial caress of the whisper that raised goosebumps all along Draco's neck. Draco felt his palms begin to sweat as Harry bent closer to his ear.

"You look perfectly magnificent."

Then he was gone, holding Colin off the floor by the back of his collar and carrying him back to the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was waiting with her Prefect-face on.

"What the hell was that about?" Blaise asked a stunned Draco.

Draco said nothing at he looked down at the slowly warming picture in his hand. It showed Blaise, Harveste and himself, a captured moment of their regular understandably dysfunctional friendship. It looked normal, until he tilted it to the side.

The sunlight shone over it. There, jutting from Draco's forehead and sweeping over his head in a great, curling wave, was the faint image of a pair of ram horns.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Do you think Blaise looks different?"

"Of course, darling. He's developed an unfortunate tan."

"It's not that..."

Harry made out the thoughtful half-frown on Hermione's face. She was stirring her cauldron with one hand, the other propped beneath her chin as she looked over at the other side of the dungeon. Even in the sparse torchlight, Blaise's solid bulk was recognizable, fairly eclipsing Draco's slighter frame as he hovered over their preparation table.

"You can't tell me you haven't noticed something strange. Half the girls in here can't stop looking at him." Hermione said, gesturing towards her own Potions partner to prove her point.

Fay Dunbar, the only girl in Gryffindor House who could keep up with Hermione's brainpower and didn't mind working next to the creepiest boy in school, was powdering her moonstone absently. Her eyes were trained hungrily on Blaise, and it looked like she was mentally undressing him. It wasn't the first time Harveste had seen that look either. In the three days that he'd been back, Blaise had seemingly doubled his fan club with no effort on his part. All he had to do was walk down the corridor, or sit in the Library, or just run his fingers through his hair. It was only a matter of time before people started breaking rules around him, if only to get the privilege of having Blaise dock a few points.

Harry smiled as he kept an eye on a busily nervous Neville. "You aren't jealous, are you, Hermione?"

"Don't be silly, Harry." She scoffed. "I simply don't see the appeal."

"Perhaps he should take his clothes off then."

"Not in this class."

Neville gave a strangled yelp as Professor Snappe loomed up suddenly behind them. It was only through Harry's benevolent reflexes that the boy didn't lose a thumb right then and there. It wouldn't do to have Neville maimed _before_ he met dear Tom. Dumbledore would probably cut his fee in half.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Granger, for talking without permission." Snape continued in a voice that reverberated around the classroom like a death knell. "And a further ten points, Dunbar, for not paying attention. Now stop drooling and get back to work. As for you, Longbottom-"

A great cloud of peach-colored mist puffed out of their cauldron as Harry dropped in the dandelion root Neville had been paring. The look on Snape's face was priceless.

Their potion looked perfect.

"Lleu's Hand." Neville swore softly, his eyes so wide Harveste wondered if they would fall out of his head.

The Potions Master rounded on him, his eyes dark unreadable pools. "Is this your doing, Addams?"

"Lleu's _Hand_."

"I'm afraid I cannot take all the credit, Professor." Harry answered demurely. "Neville did most of the work."

" _Lleu's Hand_."

"Pray do not disgrace yourself any further, Longbottom." Snape said with a trademark scowl.

"B-but I've actually done it. I've actually made a potion that works! Properly!"

In the gloom of the Potions classroom, Harry could see the Gryffindors looking at each other incredulously. The Slytherins, aside from a surprised Blaise and Draco, were mutinous. He'd expected that.

Just like he had expected the volley of indiscriminate objects that were thrown in their direction as soon as Snape had his back turned.

"Dear me."

A tray whistled through the air, knocking most of the things away, and Harry obligingly took care of the rest with his fan. Then he sat back to watch the show.

An incandescent Neville was glaring at the Snake side of the chamber, the aforementioned tray in his hands. "Don't you d-dare muck this up." He stuttered angrily. "This is the first potion that I've made right in five b-bloody years!"

"Twenty points for your language, Longbottom." Snape said dryly. "And twenty more if I find out you're lying."

The newly-brave student began to wilt under the Potions Master's icy glare. Behind him, Harry reached up and grabbed the sparrow beak that was hurtling towards their cauldron. He threw it back without looking and began to ladle the Draught into a flask. The liquid was a horrible sunny yellow, exactly the shade that was required.

"I think you'll find no fault with our potion, Professor." He said, handing it to the man. A bezoar soared through the air and would have broken the flask if Harry hadn't batted it away with a languorous hand. It plopped into Anthony Montague's cauldron, which immediately congealed.

"Professor, he's tampered with my potion!"

"Stop whining and fix it then." The Potions Master snapped.

"But-"

An audible sigh rippled through the room as Blaise sat up straight and stretched, 'accidentally' hitting Anthony on the back so hard that he was shoved face first into a bowlful of mashed slugs.

"Sorry, Montague. Didn't see you there."

"Professor!"

Snape ignored the spluttering slug-encrusted Quidditch Captain, which was a first for him, not that anyone noticed. All the girls were swooning at Blaise's smirk.

"You see what I mean?" Hermione sighed. "They're all besotted. It's _disgraceful_."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Disgraceful indeed. It seemed no female below the age of maturity could concentrate when Blaise was around. Even Cho Chang, stout supporter and part-time stalker of Cedric Diggory, couldn't resist taking a peek at the way Blaise's Adam's apple bobbed while he drank water.

"Alright, that does it." Hermione said firmly, as yet another LAID hopeful asked her best friend for a date. "Sparring practice for everybody, right now."

Blaise scratched his head in confusion as Hermione rattled off the pairings in a brusque manner, then went to stand beside Harry.

"What's got her all mad this time?"

"Who knows, darling?"

'Sparring practice', when applied to the members of the Lessons for All-Inclusive Defense, was a somewhat misleading term. Hermione had given up trying to teach all but a select few how to handle weaponry, as she had found out that most people were not naturally inclined to wave sharp instruments with the purpose of drawing blood. Instead, she had resolved to teach them the finer points of hand-to-hand combat.

"Pulling her hair isn't going to cut it in this situation."

"You either hit him with that camera, Colin, or blind him with the flash. You don't stop to take his picture."

"There's no time to be worrying about the state of your nails when you're fighting for your _life_."

"When your enemy's down, you kick him anywhere that hurts, Zachary. You don't wait for them to get up."

"You can be a lady _later_ \- Oh, for gods' sake, stop crying!"

"She's quite the slave-driver." Blaise commented. "Must be the whip."

Harry chuckled behind his hand. "Why don't you ask her?"

"I quite like having the use of all my extremities, thanks."

On the other side of the room, Draco was patiently coaching Neville into punching him.

"C'mon, Neville, just _try_ , will you? I'll even let you hit me in the nose, how about that?"

The Gryffindor boy looked faint at the very prospect of it, but he obediently swung a fist.

"Okaaay, try again. And this time, keep your eyes open, yeah?"

"I don't think Neville's cut out to be a fighter." Blaise glanced at his friend, only to see him lounging against the wall, pulling a cigarette box out of his pocket as he did so. "Those things can kill you, you know."

"Only if you're lucky." Harry smiled, caressing the unlit tip with a finger. It flared a dull red.

"Aren't you going to attack me, Harveste?"

"It's no fun if you're expecting it, darling. How was your vacation in Greece?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow at the mellow, conversational tone. "It was fine. Sunny. Mother insisted on swimming."

"Truly?" Smoke trailed slowly into the air. "And your new step-father?"

_He knew. Of course he knew._

"He ate some bad olives, got a nasty case of food poisoning." Blaise said slowly. "He died at the hospital."

"Is that so? Your mother was at his side the whole time, I assume?"

"So was I."

"Of course you were." Harry opened his eyes and looked directly at him. " _Vali_."

Blaise swallowed.

Suddenly, there was a furious howl, followed by the sound of something hitting a wet sack of meat. Both of them looked up in time to see Draco stumble backwards, hands clasped over a profusely bleeding nose. Fred and George were each holding onto Neville's arms, not an easy task, seeing as the usually introverted boy was fighting against them tooth and nail as he tried to land another hit on Draco.

"He didn't know, mate." Fred was saying, struggling to keep the younger boy at bay. "Calm down, Neville, he didn't _know_."

"Know what? What the hell did I say?" Draco managed between sticky gasps, his voice muffled by his hands.

Hermione, who had heard everything and immediately rushed in to help, didn't know whether to be worried or exasperated. "St. Mungo's, you idiot. His parents..."

Slowly, understanding dawned on Draco's face. "Oh...Gods, Neville, I didn't think- I was just trying to make you punch me- I'm so sorry-"

Blaise straightened up, a concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows. "Never thought I'd see the day when Draco would apologize-"

Later, he cursed himself for being lulled into a sense of inattentiveness. It happened so fast that he barely had time to blink. One second, he was looking at Draco, blood staining his shirt and tie, and the next, he was on the floor, hands pinned at the wrists by a grasp like iron, and a darkly amused Harveste sitting on his stomach, still smoking his cigarette.

"Never let your guard down, _vali_." His breath was arctic and smelled like tobacco. "No matter what."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

It had been a few days since Neville had broken Draco's nose. Hermione, never one to waste a teaching opportunity, had taken the chance to show everyone some basic medi-wizardry.

Now it was a Hogsmeade weekend. Blaise had started hiding out in the Common Room after breakfast to avoid the love-struck horde that kept inviting him to Madam Puddifoot's.

"You need to watch out for some of those girls." Draco said over the cover of _Nimue_. "They won't think twice about slipping you some love potion."

"Don't be daft, Draco."

"I'm just saying there are some mad birds out there. I mean, look at Hermione and Luna."

The wall slid open, letting in a frantic Hermione, who was clutching the morning Quibbler in one fist.

"I think she heard you." Blaise grinned at his friend.

"Where's Harry? _Where is he_?"

Draco's forehead furrowed at the wild, worried tone in her voice. "In the shower. He's got a few more weeks with Argus- Hey, you can't go up there! He's naked!"

"Who's naked?"

Harry walked down the staircase, hair still damp and clinging to the back of his neck. He was wearing the frock and pinafore today, and there was a faint _clank_ as Hermione collided with his chest.

"Darling?"

"The paper...the paper..."

Harry's arms tightened around her shaking form, and he gestured for Blaise to take the crushed newspaper from her grasp. Tension thickened audibly in the air.

There was a rustle as Blaise unfolded the Quibbler. Draco peered around his arm.

‘MASS AZKABAN BREAKOUT!’ The headlines shouted at them, ‘DEATH EATERS ON THE LOOSE!’

"Crap." Draco looked up at a stone-faced Blaise, then to a sobbing Hermione. "Well, at least we know they're coming. We'll be ready."

"It's not that!" The witch hiccuped, wiping at her cheeks as she finally turned to face them. "It's... oh, it's..."

"What?"

"There's... there's _ten_ of them, Draco. And who knows how more Voldemort's gathered this year?"

"So what?" Blaise managed to shrug, though his throat was feeling particularly dry at the moment.

"Don't you understand?" She finally exploded, tear-red eyes glaring at them. "It'll take _forever_ to get rid of them all! There simply won't be enough time to study for my O.W.L.s!"

"You _what_?" Draco's jaw dropped. " _That's_ what you're worried about?"

"Of course it is! I'll have to re-write my entire schedule _again_!"

Over the sound of Harry's laughter, Blaise sighed. "I see what you meant about mad birds."

.

.

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End of Chapter


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I get closer to the sixth book, I can feel my brain twisting in on itself.

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing, Slash and Het. I don't want to hear complaints about this.

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The atmosphere of the castle had become bleak and gloomy in the wake of the Death Eaters' escape. Students and teachers alike gathered to whisper in the halls, only to break up upon the approach of the High Inquisitor. Even Umbridge herself was showing signs of restlessness. The amount of pink she now donned was audacious, as if she was wearing the blessedly cheery color in defiance of anything Dark, and she had become even more snappish than usual, taking points off for Whistling in the Corridors and Smiling for No Reason.

She tried her best to pin these and more on Harveste, who predictably started smiling with what Blaise would call extreme prejudice. No one knew which was more frightening: the genial yet undeniably eerie expression on a boy who had Done Things, least of which was blowing up a dragon, or the numerous face twitches that most would call a pre-cursor to a stroke as Umbridge attempted to punish said boy to the best of her ability. He had detention until the end of the school year now, and his Hogsmeade and Quidditch privileges had been revoked. She would have gone so far as to confiscate his broom too, if she hadn't come upon it eating a rat.

Blood Quills were being flown in once a week now, with special Acid Etch Ink just for Harveste. The backs of his hands remained stubbornly pale and flawless.

This weekend, Harveste had been bidden to care of the Skrewts, as Hagrid had somehow managed to break an arm and a couple of ribs while - as he so emphatically insisted - he had been shoveling snow. The sight of the dark-haired figure calmly walking through the snow in a skirt and a frilly white apron had been enough to send Umbridge to Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught.

"I hope she walks into a cupboard and bashes her head open." Hermione muttered darkly as the Infirmary door closed. "Or that Madame Pomfrey gives her Skele-Gro instead of Calming Drought, and Umbridge grows an extra set of limbs that I can cut off."

"You get creepier by the day, Hermione." Blaise said with a wry look at the young witch next to him. "Looking to extract your pound of flesh, are you?"

"Have you seen what she looks like? She can spare more than a pound. And you know she deserves it." Hermione said defensively. "She just keeps _picking_ on him."

"She picks on everybody. I don't see you getting mad on Draco's behalf."

"Oh look, another Decree! The Minister must be going mad trying to keep everything under control." Draco said quickly to turn the conversation away from him.

"What on earth are these supposed to be? 'Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach.'" Hermione read out loud. "That's just _ridiculous_. We should be able to go to our Head of House for anything."

They rounded a corner, passing three girls that started to giggle amongst themselves when Blaise scratched his ear.

"That's the fifth time today." Hermione observed quietly, watching as one of the girls - Tamsin Applebee, Fifth Year, Hufflepuff Chaser - tossed her hair back and fluttered her eyelashes coyly. "I've been meaning to ask you, Blaise, what _did_ you do in Greece over the holidays?"

"Visited my mother. It's a good thing too. If I hadn't gone, she'd have been sitting alone at the hospital, watching my stepfather die by herself."

"Very touching." She pursed her lips and looked at him again. Blaise didn't look overly disturbed, given that he'd just seen a man die, but then again, Blaise wasn't the sort to become melodramatic. That was Draco's forte.

They climbed the stairs leading up to the Library. Another girl - Megan Jones, also from Hufflepuff, also in Fifth Year - bent down to pick up some parchment she had dropped. The front of her blouse gaped, showing a tasteful amount of cleavage and a hint of lacy black bra.

"Pick up any women while you were there?" Hermione asked, stifling the urge to kick the girl over the banister.

"At a hospital?"

Draco, quietly scribbling ideas for potions in his journal, looked back and forth between them curiously.

"You've got a tan, Blaise. Obviously you went to the beach."

"To _swim_ , Hermione, like normal people do at a beach. I didn't go to have some sort of holiday romance."

"I didn't say you were there to 'romance' girls." Hermione said loftily. "I'm asking whether you slept with anyone."

There was a loud metallic crash. Draco had walked right into a suit of armor.

"Watch where you're going." The helmet muttered crankily. "Students these days..."

Blaise sighed and knelt to help him up. "What's gotten into you, Hermione? What kind of question is that to ask me?"

"Well..." Hermione picked a mail glove off Draco's head and saw a painting of an old witch blatantly ogling Blaise's bottom. "The right one, apparently. You've...you've got a glamour on, haven't you?"

"What? Why on earth-"

"Because lately, everybody you walk by looks like they want to have sex with you."

Draco, who had been picking himself up gingerly, stepped on a shin greave and fell back down with a yelp.

"That's going to dent, that is."

"Shut up." The blond Slytherin said to the petulant helmet, his ears a bright embarrassed red. "Hermione-"

She ignored him, focusing her scowl at Blaise."It's like you took a bath in Amortentia or something. If those paintings had hands, you'd be naked right now!"

Blaise looked behind him. The old witch had invited some friends over from the neighboring paintings. Despite their faded and crackling patina, they giggled like young schoolgirls when they noticed that he was looking at them. One of them even winked.

"There's no law against looking at someone's bum." Blaise said after a minute.

Hermione snorted indelicately and pulled a blushing Draco to his feet. "I just don't see why they would want to look at yours. I mean, I know you're fairly handsome-ish-"

"Way to build up my self-esteem there."

"-but it wasn't like this _before_ you went to Greece. You _must_ have had sex, because I read somewhere that people who lose their virginity-"

"Hermione." Draco whined piteously. "We're in _public_."

"-sometimes experience a pheromone change, so the aura they project is more enticing, but the way some of the girls are mooning over you is just ridiculous. I'm just grateful that whatever it is isn't affecting me, Draco and Harry."

"It's no fault of mine." Blaise rolled his eyes at her accusing tone and gave up. "I didn't have sex with anyone in Greece. I just did my Low Call."

"I knew it!" It was amazing how quickly Hermione could go from pissed to pleased. The expression on her face cleared up like the sky after a storm and her eyes lit up with the fires of Research. "So, to who then? Eros? Qetesh? Qandisa? A hitherto undiscovered X-Rated God of Porn?"

"Guys, _seriously_ -"

"Stop being such a blushing virgin, Draco, and come on. You've got to tell me _everything_ , Blaise. But after we get to the Library. I think Megan Jones wants you to sign her bra."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Ever since Umbridge's unflattering inspection, Professor Trelawney had started teaching her subject with a vengeance. That was not to say that she stopped wearing enough bangles to moor a ship, or did away with the incense that thickened the air. She was just more emphatic about it.

And quite strict, as it turned out. She reminded Blaise of Professor McGonagall. It was the way she looked as though she wanted to strangle someone with her scarf for daring to be incompetent in her class.

"For the hundredth time, you do _not_ let the water boil! Pouring boiling water on the leaves ruins the tasseomantic effluences! Re-do this immediately!"

Draco made a face. "I thought teatime was supposed to be peaceful."

Harveste chuckled around his cup.

"What is this muck?" Trelawney demanded from across the room. Blaise looked over and barely muffled his laughter when he saw the Slytherin Quidditch Captain cringing in front of their scrawny teacher. "Are you trying to choke someone with all these leaves? No more than two and a half tablespoons in a standard teapot! And use the cosy!"

"I don't think I want to drink any more tea."

"Don't say that. I've just got it on the simmer."

Blaise turned the fire off and conscientiously poured the water into a pot patterned with purple hummingbirds. They fluttered cheerfully as the ceramic began to warm.

"These dregs are like tar! The only thing you'll be able to See in this is tooth decay! Again!"

Harveste topped his cup off and sat back to watch his teacher stalk around the small chintz-covered tables like a devil's darning needle.

"A twist of lemon will be sufficient! Again!"

Blaise flicked Draco's ear reprimandingly as the blond reached for more sugar.

"Have you squeezed an entire cow into this? Again!"

Harveste filled his cup for the third time.

_A sobbing Trelawney sat on a trunk, blocking the entrance to the Great Hall and slowly being surrounded by students as she grew steadily hysterical. There was a half-empty bottle of Firewhisky in her hand._

_...Professor McGonagall, as fierce as a dragon, striding over the floor..._

_...Aunt Dolly, smugly smiling, saying something about the Ministry, something about the Minister and getting a paper signed..._

_...and there was Dumbledore. He was angry, his brow furrowed, his fists clenched under his sleeves, his voice in the steely control of one who didn't want to lose their temper in front of witnesses. The smell of cinnamon was so strong as to be almost palatable..._

"Gregory Goyle! Can you not _hear_ the kettle whistling? Do you know what that means, Mister Goyle? It means that you have let the water boil _again_. Can you not retain even the simplest instruction? At the very least, it is against basic English courtesy to serve your guest sub-par tea! Do it _again_ , Mister Goyle, and if you make this mistake once more, I shall boil _you_ and serve you up on a _biscuit_!"

Harry blinked as Professor Trelawney's strident reprimands pushed themselves into the foreground, making the silvery images fade away.

Blaise was looking over at him in concern. "Harveste? What's wrong?"

"Nothing that can't be fixed, darling." He said with a little smile. "Do you think she was serious about making _pate de_ _Greg_?"

"That's it." Draco announced, putting his cup down. "I've completely gone off my tea."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Contrary to public opinion, Lord Voldemort did not like graveyards. There were always far too many unimaginative busts of cherubs and uninspiring epitaphs, all scattered amongst yards and yards of wasted space that could just as easily been grounds for a hospital or an orphanage, something _worth_ attacking. There simply wasn't anything sinister about a place that was, in essence, one great big lawn reserved for glorified fertilizer. No wonder the grass was always green.

And the bouquets people left - as if, by giving up an offering of lively color and ribbon and crepe, one could do away with the dreary inevitability that always overcame human existence. It was, frankly, quite depressing.

Instead, Voldemort chose to hold court in his old manor's torture room. It was a spacious room, as large as Hogwart's Great Hall, which the Carrows kept brightly lit with the fire of a hundred burning cradles. Inclusion of infants was entirely optional.

They illuminated his Death Eaters well, especially the one currently kneeling before the stone chair he sat on.

"I have been badly advised, it seems." Voldemort said in his dry, clipped tones.

The man before him shuddered at the sound of his voice. "P-please forgive me-"

"I do not blame you, Rookwood. Not this time." He waved a pale hand negligently. "Are you sure of your facts? Avery told me Bode would be able to acquire what we seek."

"Y-yes, Lord. I mean, no, L-Lord..."

"Make up your mind." He half-snarled, patience already stretched. "Or would you like Bellatrix to make it up for you?"

On cue, a scream rent the air. It was long, loud and torturous, perfectly audible even though it had issued from a throat one floor below. Bellatrix had retained her talents even after years in Azkaban.

"Please, M-Master! Bode could have never taken it, he knew he could not! It is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's curse!"

Red eyes narrowed dangerously and he looked up to peruse the ranks of the mask-wearing horde before him. "Lucius, is this true?"

"I am afraid so, Master." A tall man stepped forward, his white-blond hair glowing in the firelight. Lucius Malfoy was the only one who dared to go before him with his head uncovered. "My apologies."

"But it was there... He touched it..."

"Yes, Master."

"You have _failed_ me."

Lucius said nothing, merely bowed his aristocratic head, his long hair hiding his face.

The room was filled with choking fear. Voldemort could taste the rankness of it every time he breathed in. But there was no sign of anxiety on the Malfoy patriarch's frame. He just stood there... waiting.

_It's that cursed Addams boy. I know it is._

One non-existent eyebrow twitched in irritation. "Avery, come forth."

 _This_ one stank of fear, shaking, terrified. Voldemort took a deep, hissing breath and his fingers tightened around his wand.

"You assured me of this plan, did you not? You told me any person that was a member of the Ministry could bypass their security measures and get me my Prophecy. _You_ picked out Bode for Lucius to Imperio. _You_ were the one who took charge of this operation. I trusted _you_ to do this."

"I was mistaken, Lord! Forgive your foolish servant! I beg-"

"You beg?" He sneered cruelly. "How the proud have fallen. Once you stood tall before me, Avery. Now you writhe like a common coward."

"Please, Lord! I will do anything-"

"Anything?" The long, thin fingers tipped Avery's chin up almost lovingly. "Would you bring my token to Harveste Addams and his...friends?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Voldemort watched Lucius. The man didn't even so much as twitch.

"I will do as you c-command, Lord!"

Voldemort stood up. The man squeaked, quivering like a jelly as he anticipated the stinging agony of a Crucio or worse. There had been a time when he would have cast it, just for the pleasure of hearing the scream but-

_Green eyes looked back at him, gleaming like emeralds in the dark, hazed with indescribable agony and pain... but somehow..._

_"Do it again..."_

The sound of cracking stone was the only sign of Voldemort's fury. The memory of that night haunted him, worse than any ghost or nightmare or evil deed that he had done in seventy years, and he didn't know _why_.

He hadn't cast a Crucio since then.

Well, there were other ways of ensuring his followers' loyalty.

"I will send you then. But first, we must make arrangements. We cannot have you appearing in Hogwarts in your current form."

Avery looked up at him, hope lighting his sunken, rheumy eyes. "I-I can brew P-Polyjuice-"

"I think not. Harveste Addams will see through that. No, we must make you _unrecognizable_."

With a wave of his wand, the man was lifted towards the ceiling. The fires flared brightly at a silent command, casting their light further into the corners of the room and making every device therein sparkle and gleam with a diamond brilliance.

There was one device that looked out of place amongst the chains and nails and sharp edges. It was a great brass bull, crafted in the act of pawing the ground with one leg, its horned head tossed regally in the air. It gleamed as if newly-polished and it had been created just for this eventuality.

"Do you know what this is, Avery?"

"A s-statue, Lord?" Avery quavered, twisting gently in the air.

"Appearances can be deceiving. This is a Sicilian bull, first commissioned by Phalaris of Sicily. It is not the original, of course, but Rodolphus has made quite a good replica, with a few modifications as per my request. However, it still needs to be tested to make sure that it works as it should."

In the crowd of Death Eaters, a thick-set man snickered.

"Do you know _why_ Phalaris had it made, Avery?"

"N-N-No, L-Lord..."

From the side of the bull, a handle protruded. Voldemort gestured again and it turned to open a hatch. The interior of it was dark, but that was soon remedied when the entire bull began to glow, going from a golden sheen to a dull cherry-red in a few seconds.

"Burning criminals and so-called 'witches' at the stake was quite the crowd pleaser in those days. However, they would almost always die of smoke inhalation first. That did not please Phalaris. If you are to burn someone alive, they should _stay_ alive to feel every inch of their skin set aflame, to feel the heat penetrate their bones and cook them from the inside out, do you not agree? Of course, the torture was so effective that, even if by some miracle, the condemned did not choke to death, he or she would die after a mere fifteen minutes or less. I deemed that unacceptable. So we have put in ventilation for your benefit. By my calculation, it should extend your life by... oh, the best part of an hour."

Then, something happened that made Avery's heart leap up into his throat. He was going to die, he _knew_ he was going to die, and it was going to be long and more painful than he could ever imagine, but somehow, even the thought of that was nothing compared to the gut-twisting terror he felt...

...when the Dark Lord chuckled to himself. The small pleased sound was more frightening than any manic laugh or sadistic cackle that had ever issued from that lipless mouth.

"Do prove me right, Avery. And be sure to scream your loudest."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

They were studying in the Room of Requirement today. Hermione had gotten it into her head that, even though there were Death Eaters on the loose, it was no excuse for anyone in LAID to slack off in their studies. With this in mind, she had drawn up a schedule. For _everybody_.

"This is mad!" Fred exclaimed, once she had handed him his slip of paper. "I'm not even taking Ancient Runes!"

"You aren't going to be studying it." Hermione said primly, handing another slip of paper to Neville, this one so full of writing that it was nearly illegible. "You got a Poor in your O.W.L.s but the only reason the CONDOM works like it does is because of the circumscription power of your Rune-work."

"Circum-what now?" Fred frowned. "Are you trying to make a joke? Because I think that's supposed to be 'circumcision'."

Hermione raised a prim eyebrow and continued. "Obviously you should have gotten a lot better than a Poor. You'll be teaching us the basis for magical weapons construction, for starters. Then maybe some of the more complex runic scriptures and logograms."

"What? But I-"

"But _what_? Would you like another 'circumcision' joke? Because if you do, I'll make sure I'm the only one who finds it funny."

Fred Weasley, prankster extraordinaire, shrank under the weight of her challenging glower. George patted his back sympathetically.

"When are we supposed to sleep?" Cho interrupted angrily as she stomped up to the Gryffindor girl. "You've even cut mealtimes in half!"

"You can sleep when you're dead. And you're just mad because you're not in Cedric's study group."

If it was possible, Cho seemed to grow angrier, her cheeks red, the grinding of her teeth nearly audible. With a venomous glare, she spun on her heel and marched back to her Ravenclaw friends. Hermione watched her go with a thoughtful look.

"Erm, H-Hermione? What's this bit a-about animal h-husbandry?"

"I got the idea from Hagrid." The witch said, instantly all smiles again as she turned to the tentatively interested Neville. "It's highly probable that his Blast-Ended Skrewts are a cross between Fire Crabs and Manticores, so you can understand how useful that could be against the Death Eaters. And you know they might be doing the same thing, so I want us to do our own experimental breeding so we can be prepared."

"Like... like r-rabid Kneazles?" Neville asked hopefully. "Battle Crups and t-things like that?"

"Aww." George patted his head, grinning. "Isn't he cute?"

"Too adorable." Fred agreed. "Wouldn't see danger if it was wearing Umbridge's cardigan and dancing the polka."

Hermione looked pointedly at the both of them. " _Actually_ , I was thinking more on the lines of a Fire-Breathing Quintaped or a few chimeras."

"That's what we thought you'd say. Well, we'd be happy to-"

"Maybe even a Basilisk or two, though I'd have to find a way to keep us from getting Petrified every time we look at it."

Fred froze with his mouth open, whatever he was going to say immediately forgotten.

The color drained from Neville's face and his teeth started to chatter though he tried valiantly to control them. "A B-B-B-"

"Basilisk." Hermione said for him, not noticing as his hands begin to tremble. "Not many people know the difference between a Basilisk and a Cockatrice, which is that a Cockatrice is hatched from a cockerel's egg by a toad, while the Basilisk comes from a snake egg hatched by a cockerel. So, obviously, it's much easier getting a Basilisk. Maybe I could get Deidre to mate with Draco's Runespoor... that is, if he hasn't cut it up for parts yet."

"But that's illegal!" George exclaimed before he could stop himself. "We could get put in Azkaban for even _thinking_ about breeding Basilisks!"

"I would've thought you would be the last person to find that a problem."

"A problem? It's genius! I'm just mad I didn't think of it first!" The twins grinned manically at each other. "Cedric won't have a leg to stand on if we manage to get Wednesday a Basilisk!"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Blaise jerked awake, his throat tight and his heart hammering in his chest.

He had had a nightmare and no wonder. Hermione had spent most of the afternoon alternating between grilling him for more information on the Low Call and outlining a contingency plan Just In Case. Hermione had many, many plans. He had no doubt that if, for example, Voldemort decided to attack Hogwarts by swimming up a toilet, she would be prepared to handle that too.

She had certainly been excited about the Basilisks. Between her and Harveste, Blaise was starting to wonder if he would graduate with his sanity intact.

There was no going back to sleep now, not when he remembered the look on Draco's face as Hermione had brought up the idea of mating the snakes. He smothered a chuckle, kicking off his covers as he reached to pull back the bed hangings.

And he nearly choked on a scream when he realized that _there was_ _something moving on his bare chest_.

He had pulled the drapes back enough. In the silver moonlight that cut through the shadows, he saw Deidre coiled loosely over his ribs, her tongue lazily darting to and fro in what he could only imagine was the equivalent of human snoring.

It wasn't rational to be afraid of snakes after all this time, especially one that had been your best friend's neck warmer for almost three years. But he was afraid- absolutely freaking terrified and he didn't care who knew it - and he wanted Deidre off him and out of his bed _NOW_.

Through the curtain opening, he could see the rest of the room. Harveste's curtains were tightly closed, and though they were made of the same material as his own, somehow they gave off the impression of being as impenetrable as a sealed tomb.

On the other side was Draco's bed, the hangings gaping just enough to let one pale arm dangle through. There was the soft sound of not-quite-snoring.

"Draco." He said as softly as he could. "Draco, wake _up_."

The heavy breathing continued.

Blaise, trying hard not to breathe, clumsily reached for his bedside table and when he found the edge of something he could lift that wouldn't be _too_ painful, he threw it at Draco's arm.

It withdrew and there was a sleepy grumble. "Whazzit, you bastard?"

"Get _over_ here."

"Wha'?" A heavily mussed head poked between the dark velvet. Even though he hadn't been awake for more than three seconds, Draco managed to glare at him. "'S bloody three 'n the bloody morning."

"Come _here_ right _now._ "

Blaise had seen Harveste and Draco together enough times to know that they were exactly the same height and had a similar body type. Their auras were vastly different though. Harveste was just as dangerous as he looked and somehow gave off the feeling that he was taller than he actually was, like a human panther with a worryingly intent concentration on your throat. Draco, on the other hand...

Draco looked like a kid in his striped blue pajamas, utterly harmless and kind of cute, if you were into that sort of thing. It was deceiving, because as Montague found out, he had a kick like a mule and the temper of a pissed-off elephant.

Still, it was unsettling to see just how innocuous his image was, with the moon lighting him from behind and softening the usually sharp edges of his face. It also made his head look like a mature dandelion.

"Wha' d'you wan'?"

"Deidre is sleeping on me."

"Mmm?" The blond yawned into the back of his hand. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Get. Her. _Off_. Me."

Draco's hand was cold as it slid over his skin - but never as cold as Harveste's - and the Black Mamba was scooped up gently and placed on the floor. Deidre wiggled petulantly at the loss of warmth and hissed up at Draco.

Who hissed back and pointed at Harveste's bed.

"Since when do you speak Parseltongue?" Blaise asked, once Deidre had slithered away.

"Harveste's got his secrets, I've got mine." Draco said with a small smirk. He settled down on the opposite edge of his bed and leaned against one of the posts with his eyes half-closed. "Since when do you sleep with your shirt off?"

"It's hot in here."

"Yeah, right. I'd get a handle on those pheromones if I were you." The blond head lolled sleepily to one side. "Otherwise you're liable to wake up to worse than a snake snuggling with you."

In the dark, Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Worse than Deidre?"

"Mmm. It could have been Daphne."

"That's disgusting. Don't even think about stuff like that."

"You know that's what's going to happen if you don't control it." Draco summoned one of the pillows off his bed and perched his chin on top of it. His eyes glowed like the edge of a knife as he looked at Blaise. "I can smell you, you know, when your power starts spiking. I didn't say anything to Hermione because I didn't want to spend the rest of the year in the Library."

Blaise sighed gratefully. "Thank you."

"For what? You know how she is. She did all sorts of experiments on me after my Low Call. And it's not like you're trying very hard to hide it."

"Well, it's a bit hard controlling something like this."

"That's what you get for dealing with Yoruban voodoo. At least I've got _my_ urges under control."

"Of course, because preserving _Rusalki_ heads in rum and conspiring with Weasleys are _normal_ things to do."

"The god I chose and who answered me is normally associated with magic, trickery, earth and water- which means I've got to teach someone about the ‘Fire Gum’ before I'm not able to use it any longer."

"Water? Do you suppose that's why the _Rusalki_ didn't attack you?"

"I guess. And the Parseltongue is just another tendency, like..." Draco's lower lip jutted out a touch petulantly. "Like the bloody horns. I can't even wear a hat anymore - well, not like I actually wear them - but it would be nice to have the choice. I mean, what if I have a bad hair day or something?"

Blaise watched him yawn in the middle of his tirade. He was pale, almost as pale as Harveste or any other Addams, probably because he spent so much time in the dungeons. Even under the dim light of the moon, there was a funny flicker on his forehead, as if the light was being refracted off something that wasn't quite there.

"Hey, you're spiking."

Blaise blinked at the sound of the low, groggy voice. "What?"

"Your power." Draco gestured vaguely. "It's like... palm wine and chocolate. And yams. _Dioscorea alata_ , the purple yam, to be exact."

"You can smell the _species_ of yam?"

"You continue to underestimate just how awesome I am." The blond said haughtily, the effect completely ruined by the fact that he was hugging his pillow. "Seriously though, whoever you dedicated yourself to is really strong in the field of... you-know."

"You-know?" The brunette questioned teasingly as he began to smirk.

True to form, Draco began to blush and glare at the same time. "Yeah, like 'you-know' what I'm talking about. You wouldn't have done the Low Call if you didn't know everything that might happen. This - the whole seduction bit - it's one of the main tendencies, isn't it? I'm a bit surprised you aren't already-"

"Already what?" Blaise asked, his amusement now full-blown. "Aren't already offering my body up to all and sundry like a common street walker? Really, who needs Death Eaters when they've got friends like you?"

"Are we having a pajama party?"

Draco, startled by the pleasant voice just behind his head, fell off the bed with a thump.

Harveste chuckled down at him. He was wearing maroon pajamas which, under the light of the moon, took on the color of old blood. With his penchant for feminine clothing, Blaise had half-expected him to be wearing a nightgown.

"Stop coming up behind me like that!" Draco whined, now wide awake. "You nearly scared me half to death!"

"Only half, darling?" Harry perched delicately on the edge of Blaise's bed. "I shall have to try harder next time."

Draco scowled as he stood up. "One of these days, you really will scare the life out of me. What then, eh?"

Harveste moved forward.

Draco had expected the touch but not the kiss, and he breathed in harshly through his nose as Harveste's cold lips ghosted over his. Harveste had never kissed them in private before. He had always reserved them for the very public shock value that seemed to be an Addams trademark. In the dark and with just the three of them, it felt different, less like he'd been hit in the brain with a pail full of ice cubes and more like…falling snow, and quiet nights under the stars. And it lasted-

There was a sound from the other end of the bed. It sounded exactly like someone trying very, very hard not reach out and strangle someone else.

Harry drew back with an inscrutable smile. "Off to bed now, darling. Hermione has us on a full schedule tomorrow and it's no fun trying to kill someone who isn't at their best."

"Um…er…" The blond, utterly poleaxed by the kiss, blinked and staggered off obediently. "Right…schedule…right…"

When he had disappeared between his curtains, still muttering to himself, Blaise turned to his remaining friend with an exasperated sigh. "Why do you do that, Harveste?"

"Do I need a reason?" He kept smiling even when Blaise started to glare. "Are you angry at me, darling?"

"Why would I be?"

"Indeed. Good night then."

Harveste leaned forward to brush a gentle kiss over his cheek. His hair was loose, darker than shadows and thicker than blood, and against all reason, it stung when the strands brushed over his arm and collarbone.

Blaise swallowed.

"You know, _vali_ , there can be more to a kiss than just mere affection." Harveste's lips quirked up. "With your current...condition, it would benefit you to learn that."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The Ministry of Magic was, in a polite word, a mess. A barrage of interdepartmental memos zipped in and out of offices, ripping through the hallways so fast it was either duck or lose an eye. There was shouting and yelling on every floor, and not just because the coffee machine had broken down again.

The Wizarding Community was not pleased at hearing that ten of the most despotic criminals ever to have the misfortune of surviving the First War were now running around the countryside. Predictably, they took their panic out on their government officials.

Especially Minister Cornelius Fudge.

The door to his office burst open and Lucius Malfoy strode out, the Minister at his heels like a harried seal chasing the safety of a departing iceberg.

"- I do beg your pardon-" Fudge was saying, twisting his bowler hat in his hands. "-There's no need to- I mean- Oh _no_ -"

Amongst the flock of pale violet memos at the end of the corridor, there was a red envelope. It caught sight of the Minister and streaked towards him, refolding itself into one giant mouth as it did so.

"- _an utter disgrace to wizardkind_ -" It screamed ballistically at him."- _this_ _appalling situation we find ourselves in now_ -"

Lucius watched with a scornfully amused eye as the Minister of Magic flailed at it, trying to capture the Howler under his hat.

"I hope this- This doesn't change your mind- About the donation-" The portly man panted out. He managed to get one corner of the letter under the brim of the bowler hat, but it skittered away. From inside the main office, a trail of voices got gradually louder, and in a wave of raging crimson, the rest of the Howlers burst through the door and added their shouts to the mix. "Oh, blast it- Weasley- _Weasley_!"

"- _if I am murdered in my bed, I assure you that the International Confederation of Wizards will get a very strongly worded letter_ -" was one chronic complaint. It was quite a big Howler with obviously a lot more to whine about. There were three others just like it, with the exact same persistently grating voice.

"WEASLEY!"

Further down the corridor, a hairstyle gone supernova appeared. It was coupled with an unfortunate pair of ears and a freckled complexion that Lucius would recognize anywhere. Weasleys and Malfoys were like phoenixes and dragons. One definitely did not mix with another, and if ever a pair of them should meet…well, that was how deserts were made.

Nevertheless, his son had chosen to save the Weasley patriarch in the name of pure blood. And apparently he was close friends with the prankster twins. Lucius could do no less. As the Junior Assistant drew closer, he inclined his head a fraction of an inch downwards in acknowledgement.

The Weasley spawn blinked in surprise and warily edged around him as if Lucius was about to sprout another head and start singing about teapots.

"- _Dumbledore would have never_ -" One particularly patronizing Howler was saying.

"- _Dumbledore would have done_ -" Yet another one bellowed over it, the force of the yell making the picture frames shake.

"- _Albus Dumbledore_ -"

"Weasley, these damn Howlers- I'm so sorry that you had to see this, Mr. Malfoy-“

_Not as sorry as I am._

Lucius kept his mouth closed. The groveling, cowardly little toad would soon be done for anyway. There was no need to waste any good faith on him. Instead, Lucius chose to watch as Weasley, with a put-upon sigh, plugged his ears with a temporary insulation spell and Summoned a net to capture all the letters that were hounding the Servant of the Masses. He looked as though he had had a lot of practice with this sort of thing.

One was shrieking right into Lucius' ear. "- _what were you elected for_ -"

With barely a twitch, he grabbed it out of the air and crushed it.

"The donation will go through as planned, as long as you keep to your part of the bargain. And I trust you will be discreet about this?"

It was pathetic to see just how fast the man nodded. Thank the gods for Dark Magic. If the plan was carried out properly, it would be like a breath of fresh air after all this imbecility.

"I shall take my leave then. Mr. Weasley, you have missed the one by the window. Have a good day."

The boy fumbled his net as the Howlers began to tug anew. "Er…thank you?"

Lucius bowed again and saw himself out of the Ministry. No one noticed him take a file off the Junior Assistant's desk as he passed.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"You know what I heard? Umbridge tried to have Professor Trelawney fired! Can you believe that?"

Hermione frowned at the gaggle of Hufflepuff girls by the fire. They were scheduled to do Charms practice but instead they were sitting around, their gossipy voices almost loud enough to drown out the clash of warring metal. Harry had invited Blaise, Draco, Cedric and Neville to spar with him today in a four-against-one. Both Draco and Cedric had chosen quarterstaffs, Neville the lightest sword he could find, and Blaise had taken a pair of giant cleavers. Harry had started out unarmed.

There was another clash and a long string of swear words. Hermione looked over curiously.

Harry was winning.

"Do you think it's true?" A hauntingly dreamy voice asked from beside her. "That the High Inquisitor attempted to remove Professor Trelawney from her post?"

"I think anything's possible with that horrible woman in this school. Professor Trelawney is a hack, but even she doesn't deserve to get fired by a creature like Umbridge."

"I heard Professor Umbridge through the wall last night. She was screaming at a weasel. Or perhaps it was a Weasley."

Hermione thought for a moment. "Ron's brother, Percy, works at the Minister's office."

"He must be a brave man then, to deal with an army of Heliopaths every day. Men like Mr. Fudge do not usually feed their pets themselves. Such bravery is rare. The Minister must take that into consideration if ever he decides to look for a new assistant."

Not even Hermione's intellect could keep up with the way Luna's mind worked. "What?"

"Professor Umbridge was shouting at him for misplacing an Order of Dismissal that she had meant for the Minister to sign. She said that she would have him fired by the end of the week."

"Hah." Hermione opened her book a little more roughly than she intended. It burbled admonishingly at her. "That woman would blame a rock for tripping her up. It would be just like her to pin her mistakes on an innocent person, that…that…"

"You have a lot of rage." Luna observed quietly, her hands pausing in the act of coiling up her whip. "Did the High Inquisitor do something to you in a past life?"

"I don't believe in past lives. Umbridge is just universally hateable. Not even you like her." The Gryffindor blinked then looked at her friend askance. "You don't, do you?"

"I do not. But I do not dislike her as much as you seem to. Is anything the matter? Perhaps you have seen an Umgubular Slashkilter. They affect emotions."

Hermione turned back to her book, content at Luna's innocent belief. She had researched all she could on the creatures the Lovegoods believed existed, and though there were hints of something that _might_ be Nargles, Heliopaths, Moon Frogs and perhaps even Gulping Plimpys, there hadn't been any proof at all about the Umgubular Slashkilter. Still, like Harry had said, there were still those who doubted the existence of the Lethifold and the Yeti.

"I'm just a bit wound up about Blaise, that's all. Both he and Draco have already done their Low Call. I'm the only one left. I'm… Even I can't believe I haven't done it yet."

"All things happen in their own time." Luna said virtuously.

"I want to do it, I really do. It's not that I can't... I mean, you know with Blood Magic you have to… There are people the world can do without." For a moment, Hermione's hand tightened on the book cover, then she looked down and smiled self-disparagingly. "I just don't know what I'm so scared of. To tell the truth, I don't know what I'd do if Harry thought I was a coward."

"A coward?" Luna's face twitched, and Hermione realized the girl was trying to frown. "How can you say such a thing about yourself? You are _not_ a coward, and even if you never performed the Low Call, Harveste would never think less of you."

"Harry was my first friend. I just want to be worthy. That's all I ever wanted."

"That is what is wrong." Luna's features seemed to sharpen as she descended from her everyday cloud, and her blue-grey eyes focused in a way that Hermione had only ever seen on the Addams Matriarch. "You think too little of yourself. The Low Call is not done for someone else's sake. It is a choice. You cannot depend on Harveste Addams for this. You must decide for yourself that you wish to do it, that you are willing to do it with all your heart. You are a strong, smart person, Hermione, and you are kind to people that others would not take notice of, which is even rarer than the bravery required to care for Heliopaths. You are worthy of being Harveste's friend."

Something splashed onto Hermione's hand. After a while, she realized it was a tear. She was crying.

"You know," She said with a sniffle, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "There aren't a lot of people who would dare to yell at me. Draco doesn't do it, and he yells at everybody." Hermione sniffled again and gave her friend an embarrassed smile. "Thanks, Luna."

"Sometimes smart people need a kick to the bottom." Luna giggled at the look that appeared on her face. "You are welcome. Oh, and Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"About past lives. You are not required to believe in them. They just happen. You may not remember them, but other people do and they become Seers."

Hermione looked at her thoughtfully. If Luna was a Seer, it would explain a lot of things. "Do you remember your past lives?"

"I do not. But sometimes, I remember things that have yet to happen. They call me Loony Luna, you know." The Ravenclaw stood up and straightened her robes carefully. "Do you know where Cho Chang is?"

"Cho? Come to think of it… I don't think she's here today-"

Suddenly, from her pocket, there was the sound of a tinny song. Hermione pulled out Poppet.

" _Sound of the drums/ Beating in my heart._ " The doll sang, the pink of her cardigan bleeding into a bright flashing red. " _The thunder of guns/ Tore me apart/ You've been… Thunderstruck!_ "

"It's Umbridge! She's coming! _Harry_!"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Everyone had gotten away safely, thanks to Hermione's well-executed forethought. The Room of Requirement had provided the students passage back to their rooms, something it had been reluctant to do before Blaise had shown whatever power operated it exactly what happened to uncooperative rooms. Harry had politely seen them all out before exiting the room himself, walking right into Daphne Greengrass. That had taken some doing since she had been searching the opposite corridor, but after he had found her, it had been just the work of a minute to make her notice him.

Now he settled in one of the Headmaster's wingback chairs, a cup of tea in one hand and a saucer in the other. The sight of him making himself so comfortable only served to infuriate Aunt Dolly further.

The office was just as full as it had been when Draco had spoken up for Mr. Weasley's safety. The Minister stood in front of the fire place, his bowler hat spinning like a windmill between his nervous hands, with Percy Weasley next to him. The redhead did not look as self-assured as he had been while at Hogwarts. There was a harried expression on his face and he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. On either side of the door stood two Ministry employees, one of which smelled like he had been spending a lot of time in the vicinity of a phoenix. Harry wondered idly if the Minister knew.

Professor Snape was there too, a scowl already fixed on his face as the Headmaster poured him his tea.

"Would you like some sugar with yours, Dolores?" Dumbledore asked jovially, holding up the teapot. "It's a special blend, courtesy of Professor Trelawney."

"We are not here for pleasantries, Dumbledore!" She hissed angrily. "And certainly not to drink whatever concoction that sorry excuse for a Divination Teacher has made up! We are here because that- that- that-"

She shakily pointed a pudgy, be-ringed finger at Harry, who took a serene sip of his tea.

"Now, now." Fudge said, obviously unsettled by his Undersecretary's uncharacteristic show of temper. "I'm sure the boy knows why he's here. You do know what rules you've broken, don't you, Potter?"

Severus' hand tightened minutely around his cup.

"Addams, sir. And no, I do not."

"Of course you do!" Umbridge exploded. "We caught you sneaking back into the dungeons!"

"Students are allowed to be out of their dormitories until nine o'clock in the evening. You _found_ me at eighty forty-five."

"Coming back from doing something felonious, no doubt!"

"As a matter of fact, I had been studying my Astronomy. My friend Hermione has said that I absolutely _must_ get an Outstanding in that subject."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Miss Granger has a laudable sense of responsibility, even during these troubled times. Do sit down, Dolores. Your tea will get cold."

A vein started to throb on Aunt Dolly's forehead. "I have an important witness that will _prove_ that you broke my rules, an informant that came to _me_ to expose you and your little unlawful school organization! What do you say to _that_?"

"Everybody should have something important to them, Aunt Dolly, even you."

Severus turned away, his hand covering his mouth.

The High Inquisitor waddled angrily out of the room and was back within seconds, dragging an unfortunate bald girl with her. The warm torchlight gleamed over her pale scalp. There wasn't a follicle to be seen.

"Cho." Harry greeted pleasantly. "Congratulations on your recent hairstyle."

The Ravenclaw took one look at him through a face encrusted with pus-filled boils and started to wail into her handkerchief. Her fingers, Harry noted with amusement, had somehow fused together, giving them the appearance of knobbly flippers and, by the way she had walked into the room, he would have to guess that the same had happened to her feet. He would have to buy Hermione a bottle of White Rat.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

In the end, no matter how Aunt Dolly pleaded, sniveled and threatened, she hadn't been able to make Cho speak again, in part because Cho's tongue had split in two and she couldn't pronounce any words properly. Harry had managed to get Hermione a bottle of White Rat and a bottle of Stingo's Punch, a drop of which could melt rock.

Minister Fudge had been just as furious at not being able to pin something on the Headmaster and had immediately put in a call to the Board of Governors. In the morning, it was announced that Dumbledore had been removed from his position, in a completely legal manner, and that Dolores Umbridge had been instated in his place. Harry presumed that was what Dumbledore had wanted in the first place, to curry favor with the public and have the happy side-effect of showcasing that Fudge was becoming quite the little despot. The only icing that was wanting from the Headmaster's cake was that the name of the study group _wasn't_ Dumbledore's Army. The mere sound of it would have had the Minister widdling in his pants.

Harry, of course, had been the first to taste the new Headmistress' power, though she persisted in doing it all the wrong way. This weekend, when his friends had passed by to visit him before they left for Hogsmeade, he was hanging upside down from the dungeon ceiling, affixed to the stone with a pair of antique thumbscrews, and trying to convince Argus to use a leather cat o' nine tails instead of the standard riding crop.

"Maybe Harveste had the right idea in Third Year about switching schools." Draco mused as they walked towards the big double doors that were the portal to freedom, the apothecary and Honeydukes. "Norway has some of the best quality potions ingredients in Northern Europe."

"Durmstrang has a good Dark Arts curriculum. Viktor is studying to become Deputy Highmaster there." Blaise resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at Draco, who was waggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. "We write to each other. Cousin What likes hearing what we get up to. And if you keep doing that, we won't visit them this summer. I'll even tell Viktor to cancel our visitors' pass to Nurmengard."

Draco stopped walking. "You what?" He asked flatly.

The tall brunette blinked. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased, what with Norway's potions ingredients and all."

"You _what_?"

"Did I break some secret Malfoy code or something? It was just an idea for this summer. We don't have to go to Norway if you don't want to-"

"Are you _mad_?"

Draco turned to him. The only way to describe the look he had at that moment was one hundred percent Rabid. His eyes were practically shining, and he grabbed Blaise by the collar of his t-shirt and stood on tiptoe, oozing excited lunacy from every pore.

"Er…"

"You got us passes? To Nurmengard? Where Grindelwald is kept? _The_ Gellert Grindelwald? Gods…That's _awesome_! I'd kiss you, but I'd hate myself for it afterwards! _The_ Gellert _Grindelwald_!"

"He's not your typical celebrity figure, Draco. I don't think one of the most infamous Dark Wizards of all time would be willing to sign your Potions text." Hermione met Blaise's eyes over the blond hair and had to smile at their friend's undampened enthusiasm. "Though I suppose moving to Durmstrang would be a good choice. I'm sure Viktor would be a far better teacher than Umbridge could ever hope to be."

"I'm sure _Headmistress_ Umbridge would love to hear your opinion, Granger." A hateful voice sneered behind them. "I'll go ask her what she thinks, shall I?"

Draco looked around, distracted from thoughts of visiting _the_ Gellert Grindelwald, and frowned. "Don't you have anything better to do, Daphne? Or are you here to ask Blaise for a date too?"

"I have taste, Malfoy." The leader of the Idiot Four said, flanked by Gregory Goyle, who was chewing a cupcake with his mouth open, and Miles Bletchley, who was cleaning out his ear with a finger. "And standards."

The blond snorted. "Yeah, right. Obviously you do."

Daphne smiled nastily at him and crossed her arms over her large chest. "Just because _you_ spread your legs for him doesn't mean other people have to, little pillow-biter."

The world went silent.

Hermione's eyes were impossibly wide, one hand automatically reaching out to Draco as he took a step forward. " _What_ did you say to me?"

"You heard me."

"I did. I'd just like you to say it again, so I have twice as much excuse to string you up by your intestines."

Daphne gave him what she thought was a superior smile. "That'll be detention for you then, Malfoy. I think scrubbing out toilets will be a good start."

"You're not a Prefect, Daphne, and not even Prefects can give other students detention." Draco's smile was much better than hers because he actually had the face for it. It was like watching ice form on a diamond. "Stop bothering us before I kill you."

"Tut, tut, another detention, Malfoy, for offering violence to a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. We're the Headmistress' new deputies now and… well, we can do whatever we want. So, that's two days' detention for being a right tit, Malfoy, two more days for looking at me like that, and three more just for being gay. And since I _can_ take points from Gryffindor, that'll be ten off for being a Mudblood, Granger."

Hermione opened her mouth but Draco beat her to it, the grey eyes narrowing dangerously. "What's wrong with being gay?"

Blaise blinked.

"Ah, so you admit it, do you?" Daphne sneered while Goyle and Bletchley snickered disgustingly. "Your father must be so proud."

"Draco, don't-" Hermione bit her lip. There was a tenuous rushing sensation all around her, brushing like spider webs over her skin, and her heart was beating faster than she thought it should be. "She's just trying to pick a fight-"

"Yeah?" Draco said through gritted teeth. "You don't say."

Hermione blinked. She could swear that, just for a moment, she had heard a faint roar, almost like the crash of an angry sea against a cliff, and as her fingers brushed over Draco's pale wrist, his skin had felt brittle and… corrugated? Her hand tightened instead of pulling away, and it smoothed out instantly.

"We'll get in trouble-" She whispered, trying to tug him backwards.

And there _would_ have been trouble, if Blaise hadn't chosen that moment to hitch his bag higher on his shoulder. It was a simple motion, one that he did every day, but this time, it was somehow enough to pull the back of his shirt up out of his denim trousers, exposing a tanned strip of muscled lower back.

Draco's nose twitched.

"Why don't you grow a pair, Daphne?" One of the torches on the wall flickered out, casting interesting shadows on Blaise's face as he smiled amiably. "It'll go with your moustache."

The tension drained out of Draco and the feeling of being an Acromantula's take-away lunch died out.

Then Hermione smacked herself on the forehead as, like they had been summoned by some dark entity, the Blaise Zabini Fan Club began to spill into the hallway, a multitude of girls that could give Draco a run for his money when it came to quixotic levels of fervid adoration. They stepped around every corner, appearing from every nook and cranny, and zeroed in on their prey.

They had the satisfaction of seeing Gregory's bulk nearly trampled by the burgeoning crowd but then, as the nearly-mad, love-struck eyes turned towards them-

"If we _ever_ get out of this alive, Blaise," Hermione growled as they ran. "You are _never_ allowed to wear casual clothing ever again."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Snape dismissed the student in front of him with a wave of his hand. Under Umbridge's domineering eye, almost every Fifth Year in Slytherin had undergone their career counseling. Things had gone smoothly, as smoothly as they ever did with the new Headmistress' constant interruptions, and the choices his students had made were all ones that fit their personality and work ethic.

Montague, who was unimaginative, had said he had wanted to play Quidditch professionally, regardless of the fact that players who were so willing to sabotage their team did not usually get far in the League. There was enough stress in flying more than eighty miles an hour while a hundred feet in the air, battling though rain, shine or snow, knowing that even the best brooms could fail at any time and there was a Bludger out there with your name on it, not to mention a thousand ravening fans pinning their hopes and dreams on you, without waiting for someone to stab you in the back just because they didn't like how your face looked that morning.

Daphne Greengrass had raised red flags as soon as she stepped into the room. There was something in her eyes that Severus recognized. It was the need for revenge, and it didn't look any better after eighteen years. There had been idle chatter for the precursory fifteen minutes, purely for Umbridge's benefit, and then he had dismissed her.

Draco hadn't been in his office for more than a second before the boy had promptly told him that he wanted to be a Potions Master. As if that had been in any doubt.

Zabini, who had now grown so tall Snape had found himself almost tipping his chin up to see eye to eye with him even while seated, had taken a bit longer before expressing an interest in the International Magical Office of Law. That had been the first unexpected answer he had received all day. The boy was very much the outdoors type: swift on his feet, fairly muscled, a good head for Potions and obviously possessing nerves of steel, seeing as he had to deal with the Addams boy and Hermione Granger every day. He would be wasted in an office.

And now…

Harveste Addams sat opposite him, prim and pressed in his 1924 edition of the school uniform. Snape had to admire him. He could make Umbridge's blood boil just by sitting down, but of course, that wouldn't be enough, not for him. Snape saw the green eyes flicker imperceptibly to the corner where she was observing them, saw the dark teasing glint come to life, and stifled the urge to sigh out loud.

_Not again…_

"I see you are fairly well-off, Addams. Your father owns a uranium mine and a crocodile farm. And a tombstone factory." He sneered, striving for the acerbic tones he had previously used with the rest of the students. "I suppose that with your family's wealth, you have not put a single thought into a suitable livelihood?"

"On the contrary, Professor. Sometimes it is all I think about." A corner of the thin lips turned upwards. "And of course there are my family's traditions to uphold."

 _I'm sure._ "Enlighten me then."

"I would like to be a courtesan."

Umbridge's patented ' _Hem-hem_ ' stuck in her throat. Snape, with great presence of mind and muscle control, did not roll his eyes.

"Why on earth would you want to be a courtesan, Addams?"

Harry smiled politely, completely unashamed. "It is an old custom in my family to have at least one courtesan in each generation. It is a venerable profession, one of the oldest, and they say it is very challenging with never a dull moment. And, as a bonus, you become quite limber."

Out of the corner of his eye, Snape saw the look of growing apoplectic fury on the High Inquisitor's face. If she had been a kettle, the whistle would have ruptured eardrums.

"Most students do not give much thought to what they will do after school." Snape said with a straight face. "Well done, Addams."

" _What_?" Umbridge spluttered, unable to control herself any longer.

"Why, thank you Professor. You have to admit," Harveste leaned over the table, his lips quirking upwards even more, his arms shifting to support his weight so one hand casually rested closer to Snape's own. "It would be quite the education."

"Indeed."

"Professor-Snape-may-I-have-a-word-with-you-?" Umbridge snapped out rapidly, audibly gnashing her teeth as she said it.

"I'll thank you not to interrupt my student's career consultation." Snape said curtly, ignoring the fact that, when Addams cocked his head to the side, his shirt tightened over his collarbone and exposed his neck. To the Headmistress, it must have looked as if Harveste was inviting his Professor to take a nibble. "Unfortunately for you, Addams, being a courtesan is not something I can coach you on-"

"What a pity. Are you sure?"

" _Professor Snape_!"

The Potions Master continued stoically, turning a deaf ear to their words. "-however, I am sure there are other employment options that are more suitable to your talents. Perhaps Curse-breaking or a Mastery in one of your subjects here. You are averaging an Exceeds Expectations in Divination. Perhaps you would like to be a Seer or an Obliviator."

"As the Ministry keeps a very close eye on those with a criminal record, I highly doubt that." Umbridge said quickly, determined to be heard.

"I do not have a criminal record, Professor." Harveste smiled winningly, not quite showing his teeth. "I have never been caught doing anything against the law."

Umbridge blinked at the way he said it, as if… Her eyes narrowed. "I’m sure that will change _very_ soon.”

" _Nevertheless_ ," Snape growled out. He could feel a headache starting behind his eyes, an almost-inescapable consequence of spending too much time in an enclosed room with either his perpetually placid student or his pompous pink co-worker. "You would do well to choose another profession, Addams. I'm sure your family customs can wait a few years."

_Until the Dark Lord kills me or I develop an aneurysm. Dumbledore may have told me to cooperate with him, but I certainly didn't sign up for this._

"Very well." Addams sat back in his chair, his eyes shimmering with dark pleasure in the torchlight. "I don't suppose there's an opening in the Spirit Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"And why do you ask?"

"It would be nice to bring Necromancy back into style."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Draco had known that the twins had wanted to escape Hogwarts – had actually helped them out with the spellwork – but he didn't know how soon they were planning to do it. They had barely finished eating their breakfast at the Gryffindor table when the fireworks started outside the Great Hall, blowing the doors wide open. Blaise had to pull Hermione out of the way as a rocket shaped like a goldfish whizzed by.

The air was full of dust and the acrid smell of an unwashed toilet, and there was gravel, slime and bits of armor on the usually clean floors, but no one really noticed. It was partly because of the fireworks, a few of which were spelling out obscene words that made Draco's ears turn red, but mostly it was because there was a huge gaping hole in the wall. Through it, Draco could see the east side of the Lake and the Forbidden Forest. There was an orange overtone to it. The castle's defenses were still up, but Hogwarts herself had allowed the cavity to be made. Apparently, the twins had the castle on their side.

" _WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?_ " Umbridge shouted, fighting through the crowd. Behind her, dressed in the normal, regulation uniform, was an amused Harveste.

"Ah, no- Professor, don't!" Daphne shouted, but it was too late. Umbridge must have stepped past an invisible tripwire, because she stumbled forward and was drenched in a yellowish waterfall that appeared out of nowhere. Draco's nose told him that it was centaur urine.

Someone in the crowd retched. Hermione blanched and hid her face in his shoulder.

"Which student," Umbridge eventually snarled, in an unstable, poisonous tone that dripped with fury. "Which accursed, senseless student is responsible for this heinous act of rebellion?"

"What flattering words of praise. With compliments like that, Forge, how can we _not_ admit to it?"

"Damn right, Gred."

The Weasley twins emerged from the crowd, grinning like the mad idiots they were, and bowed like they were receiving an award. One of their fireworks showered them with rose petals.

"Get 'em!" Daphne yelled at the Inquisitorial Squad.

She made a dash for Fred, who laughed and disappeared into thin air. Daphne, undaunted, turned on her heel and managed to grab George's sleeve. He smirked at her, the skin of his face moving oddly for a moment before he transformed into a tower of giant black scorpions. Daphne stepped back with a yelp as one particularly large scorpion caught her finger and refused to let go.

"Yes, do come and get us." Fred said from the other side of the hall.

"Try your best!" A similar voice said. Draco frowned. He knew the twins were identical, but he had spent enough time around them to know their scent, and he would swear that this too was Fred.

"Of course-" Another voice spoke up.

"You might find it a bit difficult-" said yet another. Lazily smiling redheads were popping into existence everywhere, all of them perfect copies, even to Draco.

Both George and Fred appeared behind Umbridge. "-to figure out which ones are the real us!"

"My, my." Harveste smiled as he walked up to his friends. "This is quite the show."

"The perfect escape, they call it. Been planning it since birth. It's only a _hadogenes troglodytes_." Draco added drily as a shrieking Daphne stumbled past them, having acquired more scorpions. "I'd help you, but I'm just a pillow-biter, aren't I, Daphne?"

"Who on earth would be making you bite a pillow?" Harry raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"As if he'd be so lucky." Blaise avoided the punch. "Daphne called him that a few days ago and gave him detention for it."

"Dear me."

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her, Harveste." Draco warned, his eyes darkening just a bit as he absently rubbed his forehead. "I want to deal with it on my own."

Harveste felt something like spider silk brush over his face and he smiled.

"You, _jormungandr_ , are a malicious little treasure." He said with a pleased chuckle before leaning across to brush his lips over Draco's cheek. "Absolutely priceless."

"Anyway, it's not even as if I _am_ gay." Draco said in a preoccupied tone as a loud _bang_ brought his attention back to the chaos.

Blaise looked at Hermione.

"You told Daphne you were." Blaise said in a mildly accusing tone.

"No, I asked her what was _wrong_ with being gay. _I_ like women just fine."

"Too bad they don't like you back." Blaise said, smirking. "You can tell us the truth, you know. We won't tell anyone."

"Shut up, Blaise."

The twins melted away like ghosts every time a member of the Inquisitorial Squad came close, pranking them all the while. Umbridge was yelling for the milling student body to go back to class or they would suffer detention, but every time she said a name, either Fred or George would appear behind her and pinch her hard. Then they would vanish and the chase would start all over again. Draco noticed that the rest of the faculty had arrived, and not a one lifted a finger to help the new Headmistress, not even Filch.

"Why are you doing this?" She howled angrily.

"Well," One of the redheads hanging from the chandelier piped up. "It's been so stuffy since you arrived-"

"-gets to the point where you've got to wade through the imbecility, to be honest-"

"-so we thought we'd let some air in-"

Montague grunted as he was slammed to the floor in front of Professor Snape with no less than three Weasleys sitting on his back. They turned his clothes into a sequined ballgown and popped away, one having the audacity to grin at the Potions Master before disppearing. Snape didn't even blink.

"I am your Headmistress, and I demand that you stop this at once!" Umbridge shook her fist at them, her face already turning purple. "You…you…vile _horrible_ little monsters!"

"-oh, you're too kind-"

"-yes, we've called you much worse-"

"-deranged old fart, for example-"

"-mumbling Ministry moron-"

"-shameless belly-crawling lickspittle-"

"-and all sorts of other things-"

" _Delimitatus Maxima Sligere Weasleys_!" Umbridge finally screamed, slashing her wand around to incorporate the entire hallway.

All the copies froze. Slowly, starting from the flame-red hair, they began to dissipate into small colorful butterflies, until only two were left. Thin coils of rope looped around them, binding them effectively.

"Show offs." Draco sniffed.

Hermione had pulled out a piece of parchment and was scribbling furiously. There was nothing like the prospect of dissecting a new spell to tempt the studious witch back into the Library.

"You will be given a chance to explain yourselves," Umbridge was saying, her chest heaving under her urine-soaked cardigan. "But I will not guarantee that you will be able to speak after what I do to you…"

"We'd love to stay for that-"

"-sounds like fun-"

"-but I'm afraid Forge and I have to decline-"

"-we've got other plans, you see-"

Unseen by Umbridge, Harry opened his fan, flicking his fingers out as he did so.

The ropes fell to the floor, severed into million tiny pieces, and two brooms came screaming through the hole in the wall, borne on the wings of hundreds of firecrackers. The twins were on their brooms before anyone could blink, a shield erected around them. The rockets slammed into the walls one by one, and instead of blowing more holes into them, writing began to scrawl across the stone on the themes of _Weasleys Rock_ , _Wildfire Whizbangs Half-Off, Bollocks to the Ministry_ and _Umbridge is a Frigid Bitch_.

Hermione saw Professor McGonagall snicker. Professor Trelawney had to duck into a classroom.

The Headmistress looked as if she could cast an Unforgivable at any minute.

One of the twins cocked his head thoughtfully, then swooped down and caught a mildly smiling Harry around the waist, settling him on the broom as the other one flew closer.

"Don't you _dare_ take him with you!" Hermione shouted. "He still has his O.W.L.s!"

"Calm down, Herm. We'll let you have him in a bit. We just want to say goodbye to our dear friend." Fred said, kissing the brunette on the temple with a cheeky grin. "Bye, Harveste. Tell Wednesday hi from us."

Further down the corridor, Ronald Weasley growled in his throat. Draco made the same noise, but for a very different reason.

"Yeah, we'll visit you some time." George said, bussing him on the cheek. "After a round-the-world trip."

"We hear Greece is good this time of year." Fred winked at a glaring Blaise. "You think your mum would take us bar-hopping?"

"As long as you don't drink anything she gives you." He muttered under his breath. Hermione hid her smile.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The twins had reached legendary status by the weekend, exacerbated by the rumor that the Umbridge had tried to make the Minister issue warrants for their arrest. There were still a few of the painting rockets around and _Umbridge is a Frigid Bitch_ appeared frequently, no matter what the Headmistress tried to do about it.

"For the last time, Harveste, this isn't a restaurant! This is my _lab_!"

"Grandmama always lets me taste her cooking. And you're a much better cook than the house elves." Harry looked utterly unrepentant as he dipped his spoon into a jar of macerated Malaclaw. The silver started to dissolve before he put it in his mouth. "Actually, this might taste a little better with some house elf mixed in."

"I am _not_ cooking! These are potions, _my_ potions- no, don't eat that!"

"You know Harold Dingle says he's got powdered Dragon claw?" Blaise said idly.

"Confiscated it. Gave it to Draco to check." Hermione muttered, her nose almost touching the pages of her Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5. "It was ground up Doxy droppings."

Blaise and Hermione looked up as Draco, chronically whining by now, followed the brunette around the various tables, trying to stop him from sampling extremely hazardous substances. He would have done better to just give the Addams a plate and be done with it.

"Do you think _Draco's_ got powdered Dragon claw?"

"I'm sure he does." Hermione turned a page. "He won't use it though."

"Why not? A big pinch'll give you the brains of Nicolas Flamel himself, at least for a while. Or so I've heard."

"Because Dragon claw is highly addictive and causes brain degeneration in the long run. And because if I catch him cheating, I'll kill him."

"Right, right."

"Harveste," Draco complained. "Pickled Murtlaps are for healing wounds, not hors d'oeuvres- _Get away from my scorpions_!"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

It was finally the night before O.W.L.s week. Hermione had dismissed the LAID group at a reasonably early hour, commanding them all to get to bed so they could be at their best the next day.

"Blaise? Are you still awake?"

Blaise looked through his curtains. Draco's hair glowed in the dark room like a beacon. "What's up? Forgot the moonstone definitions?"

"I… um, I'm a bit...worried."

"About what? With all of Hermione's revision, we could fall asleep in the middle of exams and still get an E."

"It's not about schoolwork. It's about Father."

The blond was twisting his comforter in his hands. On impulse, Blaise slipped out of bed and padded the short distance over. Draco moved his legs to make space for him.

"What about him?" he asked softly. Draco rarely talked about his family, and if so, only in passing.

"You know what he is. I'm just… I just couldn't stop thinking about it today, not after… you know."

Blaise nodded. There had been an incident that morning in Hogsmeade. It had been the last weekend before the exams, and everybody had been trying to burn off the pre-test jitters. The four of them had been at the Hog's Head when they had heard the screams.

In the middle of the road, a huge statue of a bull had appeared, one hoof in the air, the sunlight gleaming off the points of its horns. Aside from its size, it had looked just like a regular statue, until a door had swung open from its side and _something_ fell out of it, accompanied by the smell of roasted meat. It was scrawny and black, all twisted around in a horrible way and mangled beyond recognition, dotted with red and white bits. Draco had nearly thrown up when he realized that the white of it was bone. _Human_ bone.

Harveste had gone closer to inspect it, of course, but barely a few minutes after the statue had appeared, Unspeakables had begun popping into Hogsmeade to spirit it away. All the professors had ushered the students back to the castle, where a jovial Ministry representative standing next to Umbridge had informed them that it was just a gag by the Weasley twins 'the mischievous little scamps, what pranksters they are' and instructed them to forget what they saw and concentrate on the upcoming exams 'because we need some smart new blood in the Ministry'.

Blaise had seen his eyes though and knew he had been lying. The man was scared out of his brain and later on, Blaise found out why.

In the privacy of the Library, Harveste had shown them the piece of fabric that had been wedged into the door hinges of the bull. It was identical to the one they had gotten off the Dementors at the start of the year, the one Fenrir had given Harry, and the one the _Rusalka_ had surrendered before her death. They were all made of thick dark green velvet and marked with a snake hanging out of a skull's open jaw.

The bull had been the work of a Death Eater. Or _had been_ a Death Eater.

"Your father's fine, Draco. You wrote your parents, remember?"

"It's not about that either. Father can take care of himself. But the Dark Lord… They say he wasn't stable at the best of times, and Harveste's just going to make him angrier." Draco lowered his voice to a whisper. "I think the Dark Lord wants Harveste to join him. That's why he's been sending him those things, like a sort of test. He's got a perfect score so far."

"That's bollocks. Harveste would never join him."

"How do you know? They're both crazy."

Even with the serious tone of the conversation, Blaise couldn't help but snicker. The last comment had sounded more like a compliment rather than an accusation.

"Harveste doesn't like being manipulated." Blaise said, finally putting a year's worth of thought into words. "I mean, he does it to us, but that's different from what Dumbledore wanted to do. And Dumbledore doesn't care about any of us at all, not really. He's the sort of chess player that'd sacrifice every piece on the board just so the king would win. Harveste isn't like that, no matter how crazy he is."

"Yeah? What kind of player is he then?"

"A poker player." Blaise reached out in the dark and ruffled the blond head teasingly. "It'll be fine. Don't worry so much."

"I can't help it. I worry. I'm a worrier. And don't you tell Hermione, otherwise she'll mother me to death."

"I don't think she'd do that." Blaise stood up and stretched, preparing to go back to bed. "But I think she'd definitely torture you if you don't get at least seven O.W.L.s."

"I think she'll torture _everybody_ if she doesn't get all Outstandings. Hey, Blaise?"

"Yeah?"

Draco's ears were red, and when Blaise looked into his eyes, he saw the shame. "Don't tell Harveste?"

"Please. You're my best friend too, stupid."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Blaise had been right. Both he and Draco finished their theoretical exams well before anyone else except for Harveste, and they were free to nap until the two hours were up.

Draco felt he did particularly well in his Charms practical. He had done a combination of spells that split one teacup into six, turning each one into a different color before making them perform a quadrille, with accompanying music. In Transfiguration, Blaise had taken a leaf out of Hermione's book by transforming his pea into a miniscule lemon drop and his iguana into a small animated ragdoll of Professor Dumbledore.

All of Harveste's practical examiners had to go for a lie down after he had done what he was supposed to do, and none of them could understand why they felt like they had just escaped being pushed off a cliff.

They had breezed through just about every subject, and as each day drew to a close, everyone in LAID became increasingly grateful for their tyrannical Gryffindor witch's strict way of doing things. They weren't nearly as frazzled as the rest of the Fifth Years, some of who burst out crying over the slightest provocation – like someone dropping a pen or sneezing - and had to be taken away to Madam Pomfrey.

They had been afraid that Voldemort would take it into his head to attack during the exams. As a result, Blaise and Draco went to bed with muscles aching from all the weapons they carried –without weightless charms, as the examiners would detect them and start wondering why they were carrying enough munitions to arm a small group of paranoid guerrillas. And it seemed it was all for nothing. In any case, if Voldemort _had_ come during O.W.L.s, Hermione would likely have Avada'd him before going back to her revision.

And just when they thought nothing was going to happen, they had their Astronomy practical.

From the top of the Astronomy Tower, they had witnessed Umbridge and five Ministry lackeys try and take Hagrid in for questioning. It was an absolutely laughable attempt, as anyone who knew anything knew that any giant, even a half-giant, was impervious to basic Stunners. And then McGonagall had run across the grounds, beautifully imposing in her rage, and the men had taken her and the dog down in an unsporting fashion. It was enough to make anyone despair.

Hermione was not despairing. She was absolutely furious, nearly rabid with anger. She would have Summoned a broom and jumped off the Tower right then and there if Harveste hadn't had the foresight to take her by the arm and remind her of her precious O.W.L.s grade.

Now it took Blaise, Draco and Cedric all their power to keep her from storming out of the Room of Requirement and into Umbridge's office.

"Hermione-" Cedric was pleading, already nursing a black eye. "Just calm down-"

"It's all these damn O.W.L.s, that's the trouble-" Draco nattered, as he was wont to do when stressed. "We haven't had a good spar in months-"

"How _dare_ she-!" Hermione snarled, completely deaf to their words. "My Head of House-!"

"Maybe we should get her a sedative- _ow_!"

"What's the difference between _eihwaz_ and _ehwaz_ , come on, you know you want to answer-"

"I thought you had better self-control-"

"Of course I have self-control! I've had self-control all year!" She said, suddenly rounding on Blaise. "I haven't poisoned her yet, have I? I haven't ripped out her eyes, have I? I haven't stomped on her face, have I? And I haven't strangled her with that stupid bloody cardigan, _even though I really want to_! _So what were you saying about self-control_?"

Harveste excused himself from talking with Luna and made his way over to them. "You will get wrinkles if you keep frowning, darling."

" _I don't care_!"

"Ah, but I do." Harry said with a smile, and kissed her.

Her arms went slack almost immediately and both Draco and Cedric could let go. All anybody could hear was the sound of Hermione's harsh breathing gradually getting more even.

Blaise frowned reflexively. Then, with a start, he realized that Harveste's eyes were open, looking over Hermione's shoulder, right at him.

"Alright, who's got the chocolate?" He dimly heard Draco say. "I can smell it and I want some right now."

Then Harveste blinked and drew back from Hermione. There wasn't a trace of the previous temper on her face.

"Feeling better?"

"Um…"

"You shouldn't waste your anger, darling. It's a very precious commodity."

"Um…"

"In any case, you'll get your chance." Harveste smiled and gave her a brotherly peck on the forehead. "I promise."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harveste folded his hands over the top of his History of Magic exam. There was nothing else to write, and besides, by the look on the examiner's face when he had asked for five sheets of paper to write the rest of his answer to the Liechtenstein contestation, he had already gotten an Outstanding.

Something tingled in his pocket, and he smiled. It was about time. He had been wondering when Tom would make his move, and it had been on Blaise and Draco's minds as well, seeing how they persisted on carrying the heavier kinds of undetectable weaponry as well as keeping their wands on hand all the time. Perhaps next year though, he would teach them how to improve their stamina. The way they groaned as they turned in for the night was reminiscent of the neighbors at Cemetery Lane after a particularly rambunctious reunion.

One of the fabric squares had a slight glimmer about it, not bright enough to catch anyone else's attention but interesting enough for him. He slid it flat onto the table and cupped it with his hand.

"Alright, darling. Show me."

_... The Department of Mysteries again, with its long dimly-lit corridors... Was the British Ministry for Magic so cheap they couldn't afford decent candles? If anyone was tortured effectively here, he would be surprised..._

_...someone rounded the corridor... there was a hint of a pointed nose and severe cheekbones hidden by a scruffy beard... Antonin Dolohov, if he was any judge..._

_...two other men, heavy-set with intelligent eyes and callused hands... Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange..._

_...a woman with a bird's nest of hair sat playing with something on the floor... She turned slightly and he saw that it was a dead cat... a very dead cat..._ _so this was Bellatrix Lestrange..._

_...and the unmistakable Lucius Malfoy, who walked down aisle ninety-seven gripping another man's arm... another man..._

_...Liverworth Addams..._

The square of cloth warmed beneath his hand for a moment, then its glow faded away.

A slow smile spread on his face even as he tucked the bit of fabric away and turned his paper over to review his answers.

_A hunt! He would hunt tonight! His blood sang out-_

No. An Addams did not rush, did not hurry. An Addams kept the balance in all things. There would be time enough for life-and-death situations.

_In his mind's eye, the full moon was tainted, first by a red mist, then by a black shadow... He could feel the pull..._

The last grain of sand fell through the hourglass with a tinkling chime that signaled the end of their test and two weeks of O.W.L.s. Harveste let his test be collected, fastidiously gathered his things, and left the Great Hall.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"Where do you think you're going?"

Harry, halfway out of the portrait, smiled. He hadn't even heard Blaise walking up to him before he spoke. And wherever Blaise was, Draco was too. They were getting good.

"Just a little stroll."

"We'll come with you." Blaise said firmly, falling into step beside him. "Where are we going?"

"London."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

By the time they had made it out onto the Quidditch pitch, Draco had finished interrogating him about what he saw and what he thought their chances were. Harry had told him. It wouldn't do to sugarcoat the truth, not when they were so close to danger.

"A few teenagers not even out of school against a group of mature witches and wizards who rely on their superior knowledge and expertise…" Harry sighed despondently. "It's almost unsporting, really. Perhaps I can convince you to fight blindfolded?"

Draco's mouth dropped open. "Are you saying you think we might _win_?"

"More's the pity. Hello Cedric, Neville." He said cordially, bowing to them as they stepped out from under the bleachers where they had been waiting. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"

"Hermione told us you might be leaving. To fight Voldemort. We'd like to come along." Cedric smiled in his usual sheepish way. "If you'll have us."

"What a thoughtful suggestion. Unfortunately, I think I have left my barbecue equipment in the dormitory-"

Draco snorted.

"-but if you'll just wait here, I'm sure I can sharpen a few sticks."

"We meant to the fight, Harveste." Cedric said patiently over Neville's squeak. "Not as a meal to-go. You'll just have to catch something on the way."

"This is turning into a field trip." muttered Blaise.

"Indeed. How did you know where we were going?"

"H-Hermione told us." Neville said to his unlaced shoes. It seemed that he had gotten out of bed in a hurry. "She'll b-be along in a minute. She says she's just getting s-supplies."

"What, like an extra-large textbook to throw at people?" Draco asked.

"I'm sure she has something a little more appropriate planned." Harry said with a smile. "Did she tell you how _she_ knew where we were going?"

Cedric blinked and raised his eyebrows at Blaise.

"Don't look at me. If we hadn't caught him sneaking out, I'd still be in bed listening to Draco snore."

Blaise caught the punch without looking and the small blond shot him a dirty look. "I do _not_ snore."

"S-She…um, she s-said something a-about… a token?"

Harveste reached into his pocket. There was the fabric square from Fenrir and the one from the _Rusalka_. The Dementor's square had been given to Dumbledore. The one from the bull was missing so that meant…

…that Hermione had somehow managed to steal it from him without him noticing. Probably when he had kissed her yesterday. They were _all_ getting good.

"I'm afraid that we must decline your offer of accompaniment. I doubt Tom will bring enough of his little friends for all of us to play with."

"I'm going with you, Harveste." Cedric said, the firmness in his voice echoing Blaise's. "I've got some ground to make up for since the twins told your sister about their daring escape from an institution of learning. Besides, after Hermione's meltdown, it'll be an education to see her blow off some steam."

"Very well then. But Neville must remain here."

"What?" The Gryffindor finally looked up, shock and hurt written all over his face. "But I want to help!"

"Though I must say it is quite tempting to bring you, you must think of all eventualities, my dear. On one hand, you might die. On the other hand... you might die. Decisions, decisions."

"Let me make it easier for you." Draco said with a roll of his eyes. He grabbed Neville's arm and pulled him to one side where they could have some privacy. "You're not coming with us."

"But I c-can-"

"No, you can't. You still drop your knife three times out of five and we always have to keep the salts handy in case you faint."

"H-Hermione says courage means n-not running away even if you're s-scared."

"That's a sure-fire recipe for a dead body, and I know what I'm talking about."

A spark of rebellion lit Neville's normally docile brown eyes. "But I've got to go!"

"I know why." The blond said quietly. "It's because Bellatrix might be there, right? You want to avenge your parents?"

Neville's hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white and he looked as if he would faint at any moment, but he gave a stiff nod. "T-That's right. And I don't care what you say, I can do it! I'll do it for my m-mum and dad!"

"You know, I don't doubt that. I think you'll be able to do it too. But not tonight, Neville."

"W-Why not?

"Because Harveste says so."

"B-But I w-want to do it! I've got to-"

" _Listen_ to me! This isn't the time for stupid Gryffindor heroics!" Draco growled out. "Heroes get killed too, idiot! Harveste says you're not ready yet, so you're staying _here_! And so help me, if you follow us, I'll hang you upside-down with a bunch of mistletoe in your mouth so the Nargles can get you!"

Neville, his mouth already open to argue back, felt his words evaporate at the vehemence in the blond's voice. His eyebrows furrowed questioningly. "Er..."

" _What_?"

"What's a Nargle?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harveste had gone into the Forest somewhere. Cedric had let him go only after he had promised on Loki that he wouldn't run off to London by himself.

Draco had given Neville strict instructions to go back into the castle and have a snack or two before telling Professor Snape where the rest of them were headed. When the Gryffindor had quailed at the very thought of waking the dour Potions Master up, Draco had mouthed something at him and sent him away.

"What was that you said to him?" Blaise asked, coming to stand beside him as they watched the figure, hazy with a Notice-Me-Not spell, stumble awkwardly over the grass.

"Nothing. Where do you think Hermione is?"

"Honestly? I think she got side-tracked and went to check her History of Magic answers in the Library."

"Why would I do that?" A wry feminine voice behind them said. "All my essays were perfect, all my dates and names were correct and I wrote all thirty-seven amendments to the Wand Legislation starting from 1743 until-"

"Alright, alright, Hermione, no need to rehash the whole exam again. Once is quite enough-" Blaise blinked when he realized what he was looking at. "Why do you have luggage?"

Luggage wasn't an accurate term for what was behind Hermione. Luggage was small enough to be carried by hand or carted around without crushing other people's toes. What Hermione had was either a portable room or a very big outhouse. The only hand that could have carried it would have been Hagrid's, and if you ever tried to cart it around, it would crush small dogs.

"What the-" Draco gaped as Luna, who looked for all the world like she was sleepwalking with her eyes open, appeared with another trunk. This one was a lot smaller than the first, but still big enough to smuggle a pig in. "What in bloody Tartarus is all this for?"

"I thought we might need some things." The Gryffindor girl said with pride. Then she started ticking items off on her fingertips. "I've got rope, several feet of lightweight chain, shin guards, arm guards, hatchets, whips, silver knives- I packed you a handheld crossbow and Luna has the spiked knuckles- Gunpowder and a few other explosives- Here, hold this garrote for me- Bandages of course, salves and disinfectants... Oh, I do hope I haven't left anything behind."

"Why didn't you just bring the entire castle?" Blaise said with a straight face.

Draco hauled on the trunk handle experimentally. It didn't budge. "If you think I'm going to carry this all the way to London, you've got another thing coming."

"Don't be silly, Draco. We'll just put them in the back."

"The back of _what_? What're you going to do, strap it to a Thestral's arse and hope it doesn't fall off?"

"Why would we go by Thestral? Do you _want_ to miss the fight?"

"Now, now." Harry said, appearing behind them out of the gloom. "Luna, what a pleasant surprise. Will you be joining us tonight?"

"Yes." The slight girl was still dressed in her pajamas, but she had managed to braid her hair. Her fluffy hat sat on her head like a giant mothball. "I would like to capture a Heliopath."

"As you wish." Harry studied her for a moment, tapping his lips with the Chinese fan. "More hands make light work of many bodies. And, as fun as it is to see you bicker, I must insist that we be on our way. If dear Tom does kill Uncle Liverworth, it would be the epitome of bad grace not to be there to watch. We were invited after all."

"And how do you propose to get there?"

Harry smiled and gestured vaguely at the Forest as he lit up another cigarette.

There was nothing for a while, but just as Draco opened his mouth to ask what was going on, there was loud metallic roar, and _something_ burst out of the foliage. It was covered with scratches and bits of tree, a squat strangely box-shaped thing with glaring yellow eyes and... a blue paint job.

It was the Weasley family's Ford Anglia.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

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…

End of Chapter


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, before everyone gets too excited, I'll be taking some time to correct and update the first four stories. Really took me some time to get used to AO3 edits, but I think I've got it down now.

Title: Harveste Addams and the Order of the Phoenix

Crossover: Harry Potter and the Addams Family

Summary: There are three roads a growing witch or wizard can take. The first two are well-trodden. But this year, the world better get ready, because when the dark moon rises, the third path comes alive.

Warning: Addams Family Sadism and Cross-dressing, Slash and Het

.

.

…

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Draco had never been in a car before. He kept rolling his window down, then back up again.

"And what're these snappy things?"

"They're called seatbelts." Luna said softly, sitting by the other window with the full moon's glow reflecting off her large eyes. "They're very useful. Sixty-three percent of deaths caused by automobile accidents are because people don't wear them."

"Cut them out, do." In the rear-view mirror, Blaise caught a glimpse of Harry's expression. "I'd never hear the end of it if Pugsley found out I was driving in a car with _seatbelts_."

"See this rock formation here and here," Hermione was saying as she looked over the passenger side seat at the map Cedric was holding. "We're somewhere in Banffshire, and London is over here… That's four and a half hours."

"What?" Draco's eyebrows rose, one hand paused in the act of buckling his seatbelt. "Liverworth will be dead by the time we get there!"

"Wonderful." Harveste said with a little smile. "We shall be just in time to see rigor mortis set in."

Blaise sighed. This was going to be a very long trip.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Thirty minutes in, just as Blaise was about to fall asleep…

Hermione clapped her hands together as she sat up. "I know! Let's play some car games!"

"You can't be serious." Blaise stifled a yawn. "That's just so wrong."

"Why?"

"Oh I don't know. We're just going up against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters in a few hours. This is _exactly_ the time for some games."

"Lighten up. It was just a suggestion."

"I can't believe my ears. _You're_ actually telling _me_ to lighten up? You who stood behind us with a whip as we studied and threatened us with castration? Alert the Unspeakables, the world is ending."

"Shut up, Blaise. Anyway," Draco piped up, trying to keep the peace. "This is our first time in a car, so we wouldn't know what the traditional games are."

"There's nothing traditional about it. I'll teach you." Hermione turned from Blaise with a haughty sniff and favored the smaller blond with half a smile. "Do you know 'Wally the Woff'?"

Luna, who had been gazing blankly out of the window, seemed to emerge from her daze. "Oh, I know that! But in the Wizarding world, it's called 'Hanna the Hippogriff'."

"I don't think I know that one." Draco frowned.

Hermione's face split into a grin. "This is going to be fun then."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

With two and a half hours left to go until they reached London, Draco was ready to pull his hair out. Cedric, who had also been participating, had long since given up and was now lightly snoring against the window. Blaise was supremely jealous. He would be asleep right now as well, if it weren't for the fact that Draco was a very sore loser.

"I just don't get it it. I can bring a Flobberworm but not a Bundimun, a Kappa but not a Grindylow, a Niffler but not a Kneazle, and a Dabberblimp but not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack to Hanna's party." Draco's eyes narrowed in thought. "Maybe the clue's in the digestibility. Or the color. Or composition. It's potion ingredients, isn't it?"

Hermione smiled. "Just keep guessing."

"Does she like… peanut butter?"

"Peanut butter, yes, but peanuts, no."

"Well, how can Hanna like peanut butter if she doesn't like peanuts?" Draco's face was a picture in concentration. "Does she... drink tea?"

"What kind of tea?"

"I don't know… Earl Grey?"

"Then no. She does like Russian Caravan though."

"Obviously she's got inferior taste." Draco frowned as he looked at an impromptu clue list he had scribbled down. "This game doesn't make sense at all."

"You can never be right with Hanna." Harry contributed with a smile of his own. "But you can be correct."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Blaise rolled his eyes.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

It was an hour and forty-five minutes to London, and Blaise had just put an end to the second round of Hanna the Hippogriff. Draco was already fuming with murderous frustration.

"It's something to do with Grael-Millon's theory of relative displacement in instances of shifting magic particles under cross-lunar manipulation, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"Try again, Draco."

He would have sulked the rest of the way if Hermione hadn't mollified him with chicken and honey-mustard sandwiches.

Blaise personally thought that if one had to eat just before a life-and-death situation, any food they partook of should be something spartan, like bread and water, something fitting to the circumstances. It shouldn't be restaurant-worthy fare, like sandwiches with the crusts cut off and a sponge cake for afters.

Harry was idly steering the car through thick cloud cover while eating Scotch Bonnet peppers. Cedric had taken a small bite earlier and was now halfway through a wheel of cheese, still trying to get rid of the searing spiciness. As if that weren't enough, Harry had topped them off with steak _tartare_ and the eyeballs Luna had given him at Yule. Blaise felt his stomach churn as the brunette took another bite.

"I can't believe you kiss me with that mouth." He said, the words slipping from him unthinkingly.

The car went quiet.

"Dear gods." Draco finally breathed, resentment forgotten, looking between him and Harveste's amused face with wide eyes. "Dear _gods_ , I can't believe you just said that."

Cedric turned away and made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. Hermione and Luna had no such qualms. They looked at each other and burst out laughing at the same time.

Over the sounds of car-shaking hilarity, Blaise could barely hear Harry's response, but somehow he did and his cheeks nearly burst into flame.

_'What sort of mouth should I kiss you with?'_

_-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-_

Thirty minutes before they were set to land, Hermione had begun unpacking things. Lots of things.

She hadn't been joking about the weapons. They were all, in typical Hermione-fashion, well-oiled, meticulously clean, and sharp enough to cut a Minotaur’s head off without it noticing. There was more than enough to go around. She had also brought a change of clothes for each of them, complete with socks, underwear, toiletries and-

"Are these essential oils? What on earth do you think we'll use these for, massaging them into submission?"

"I thought we might need a nice soak afterwards. Don't underestimate muscle pain, Blaise."

"When do you think we're going to have the time to- Do you know the meaning of 'excessively prepared', Hermione?"

"I don't know. Does it mean the same thing as 'survival against overwhelming odds'?"

Draco, ever curious, pulled a boot out from between some ceremonial axes and a coil of piano wire. "Wellingtons? What would we need wellingtons for, wading through a river of blood?"

Hermione took it from his hand and gave him a Look.

"And by that I mean I hope you brought me a pair."

"Of course I did. You're a size six, right?"

"Size six? That's a ladies' size, isn't it?" Blaise aimed a smile like a devil at the embarrassed blond. "This is not a proud moment for you."

"Shut up," Draco muttered. "It's hereditary."

"You know what they say about men with small feet– What on earth is this?" Blaise asked incredulously, looking down at what Hermione had just pushed into his arms. It was a bundle of dark red cloth, soft and warm, the comforting texture completely at odds with what was on top of it. It was a mask, bone-white and as thin as paper, with red markings on the cheeks and across the forehead. "What's this for?"

"You wear the mask over your face so they won't recognize you, and the cloak to hide your body shape." The Gryffindor girl said patiently. "It's called anonymity. And they'll take us more seriously if we look similar. It's a psychology thing."

"But Death Eaters wear black."

"I said similar, Draco, not the same. If I'd made the cloaks black and the masks silver, then we would look like copycats, and no one respects a copycat."

"Right, because their respect is what we're looking for. Honestly, Hermione."

"In any case, red hides the bloodstains much better, which is perfect for what we plan to do."

"What, exactly, is the plan?" Blaise asked.

"Ah." Harveste's pleasant chuckle filled the car. "I thought you were never going to ask."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The wait had been _interminable_. Blaise never wanted to ride in a car ever again, not even if it was upholstered in silk and made out of platinum with diamond windows. No way. Never. He would _walk_ back to Hogwarts if he needed to.

"And no one is to mention Hanna the Hippogriff to me." He growled out as they finally, _FINALLY_ landed between the buildings that hid the Ministry of Magic. "The next person to say _anything_ about her and her damned likes or dislikes will be fucking _skinned_."

"Just one last gue-" Draco squeaked as Blaise suddenly loomed over him like a mountain, eyes promising retribution. " _Alright, g_ ods, save it for the bloody Death Eaters…"

Harveste smiled behind his fan and gestured them into the telephone booth. It was a very tight fit, and extremely hazardous considering the fact that each of them was literally dressed to kill.

"Welcome to the Ministry." A tinny, chipper voice said. "Please state your name and business."

"Harveste Addams, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Cedric Diggory." Harry said blithely. "We're just here to kill someone."

Behind him, Cedric took a deep breath and smooshed Draco's face against Blaise's back. "Oh, sorry."

"I feel like the filling in a Bigfoot sandwich." The blond muttered as he peeled himself away.

"I'm sure there are many who would like to take your place." Luna said in her maddeningly placid manner.

There was a _ding_ and a clatter of metal. "Thank you, visitor. Please take your badge and enjoy your stay at the Ministry of Magic."

Hermione picked one of the badges out of the chute. ' _Hermione Granger'_ , it read, ' _Murderer'_.

"That's a hell of a souvenir." Draco said, looking underneath Blaise's arm. "Do you think we can bring it home afterwards?"

Blaise sighed in exasperation. "That's what you're thinking about at a time like this?"

"But I'm not a murderer!" Hermione was exclaiming as the box descended.

"Wait a while."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The Hall of Prophecies was hewn straight from the bedrock, the naked stones rough and cold under his touch. It reminded Lucius of the dungeons under his Manor, the only difference being that the Hall obviously did not benefit from the attentions of a cleaning crew. The Malfoy patriarch fastidiously picked his way through the dusty rows, the soft, silvery glow of active prophecies reflecting off his mask.

His companions weren't quite as conscientious, the flapping black edges of their cloaks streaked with grey as they strode on towards the one clear space in the entire Hall where the Official Recorders usually held court. When they arrived, Fenrir was already licking his claws free of blood.

Bellatrix Lestrange cackled gleefully at the sight of the mangled bodies half-hidden in the shadows, but before she could step forward, Lucius had already set them aflame with a flick of his wand.

His sister-in-law scowled sullenly. "Must you deprive me of fun at every single turn?"

"We are not here to indulge in your fantasies, Bellatrix, we are to do the Master's bidding."

"Yesss." He knew a manic grin was now splitting her hidden face, faster than a lightning strike, and he could hear the mad excitement in her voice. "To kill the Baby Potter, at long last."

"Over my dead body, you foul bitch." growled a furious voice from behind them.

"Ah!"

Lucius watched, his face expressionless even under his mask, as Bellatrix danced between the rest of the Death Eaters, heading towards the smaller of the two cages that they had brought with them. It was so small that the prisoner inside it had to sit with his arms tightly around his knees and his head ducked almost out of sight. The fingers of one hand were bent grotesquely and he was bleeding from numerous gashes all over his body, but his eyes still glared venomously out at them.

Bellatrix giggled girlishly and began to rattle her wand against the bars of his cage. "You still show such spirit. Will you still be the same after I kill your little nephew in front of you, I wonder?"

The man let out a chortle, though it sounded strangled due to the angle of his neck. "You can try your best, scummy pathetic Death Eater that you are. I bet you won't even be able to touch him."

"Your insolence reminds me of my cousin's." She hissed, digging the hard end of her wand into one open wound. It only resulted in unsettling high-pitched laughter, the same as it had been when she had started torturing him two days ago. She jabbed him harder, suddenly furious. "I'll strip every inch of skin from his wriggling body and cut out his tongue and feed it to you. You won't be laughing then, will you? WILL YOU? And his little friends too, when I get my hands on them. I'll kill every single one right in front of your eyes, so slowly, so you can hear every beautiful scream-"

"Enough, Bellatrix." Lucius snapped. "Lord Voldemort's orders-"

"I know what the Master ordered!" She snarled, whirling around to face him, her eyes sparking in the dim silver light. "And I know you! I can hear the fear in your hammering heart, Lucius. You fear that Draco will be among the ones who arrive, do you not? You have no one to blame but yourself if we end up killing my sister's son on this night, knowing you could have prevented it if you had but ended the Potter spawn when you first found out about him."

"You know nothing of the Master's plans, Bellatrix. You have been in Azkaban for too long."

"I was FAITHFUL enough to suffer in prison, while you-"

"Were wise enough to stay free, so I could see everything come into fruition." Lucius brushed past her as she bit back an angry scream, pausing only to shoot a warning glance at one Death Eater. "Rodolphus, do attempt to keep your wife from ruining us all tonight. Fenrir, how is the other werewolf?"

The alpha said nothing, as silent as he had been when they arrived, only moving to take up his station next to the larger cage. In it paced a lean brown-furred wolf, its dark eyes watching them, its fangs bared threateningly. Its bony shoulders were deeply scarred and burned from where it had dashed repeatedly against the silver bars to get to its mate, the man in the other cage. Capturing the wolf had been a challenge, but there was no way they could have caught Liverworth Addams without him. The man had been maddened by the disappearance of his lover and it had cost three Death Eaters their lives to incapacitate him.

"Fenrir."

The werewolf blinked, and then his frame began to shudder as he forced himself into his half-state. Lucius knew it took great effort during the full moon, and especially since he had another werewolf's scent so near. Bones cracked hollowly in the cavernous Hall as they reformed themselves, the distorted muscles crawling under his skin like snakes stuffed in a sack. His form was more misshapen than usual, attempting to stand on a wolf's hind legs with a long tail to balance him, monstrous paws becoming slightly more human but still tipped with lethal claws, his face still half-masked with matted, dirty fur as his muzzle shortened enough to allow him to speak.

"He hungers."

Lucius kept himself from shaking his head as the usually murderous eyes remained trained on the captive, the old bloodthirsty nature dampened under new-found patience and childlike interest. Fenrir had changed after his encounter with the Addams boy, just as the Dark Lord had, though there was none that would admit it openly. Even Bellatrix had noticed, and her temper had worsened as a result. Her Master's mood had changed and with it, her position in his eyes. She was no longer as favored as she had been, and all her inventive murders and tortures remained for naught. She hated Lucius for still remaining the Dark Lord's first lieutenant, and he knew this night would not end without her attempting to kill him at least once.

_Let her try. Even if the plan does not go perfectly because of her interference, I will still have the satisfaction of seeing her writhe before His wand._

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"He should be near here. Anywhere here... really close..."

"I... I don't think your Uncle is here-"

The faint sound of running filtered through the shelves, the soft, muffled sound of young voices with it. Lucius silently beckoned the others to follow him. Fenrir and a few others were left behind to guard the cages.

"Have you seen this? It's got your name on-"

Bellatrix's fanatic frenzy was near palatable as they turned a corner, still hidden by the shadows, and came upon a group of five. Three were the approximate size for school-going youngsters, but the other two towered over them. They were all wearing identical hooded red cloaks, their faces rendered unrecognizable by distance.

"Don't touch it!" One -a girl by the sound of her voice- said warningly as a pale hand reached for a dusty prophecy.

"Why not? It's something to do with me, isn't it?"

The ball was lifted off the shelf and the red cloaks gathered around it.

_Now it begins._

"Very good, Addams." Lucius said, stepping into the light. "Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me."

The one holding the prophecy stiffened but turned around obediently, and Lucius found himself looking at a bone-white mask striped with thin red streaks.

This was an unexpected development. Lucius' eyes narrowed. "To me," he repeated, keeping his voice even.

The voice was muffled and unrecognizable. "Where's Liverworth?"

Laughter rippled through the Death Eaters behind him and Bellatrix spoke as the rest of the cloaked students faced them, all wearing similar white-and-red masks. "Are you copying us, ickle babies, with your hoods and your scawy wittle masks? Are you pwaying at being Death Eaters?"

"We're not playing at anything." One of the taller ones said, his voice deep and calm. "Tell us where Liverworth is."

"Tell us where Liverworth is." Bellatrix mimicked annoyingly.

Lucius set his jaw to keep from grinding his teeth. "Give us the prophecy and no one need get hurt."

A girl laughed, the strangely haunting sound filling the air in strange ways.

"You dare laugh at us?" Bellatrix's sanity, always tenuously clinging to the surface, slipped once more. " _Accio_ proph-"

Before the spell could be finished, she was forced to leap back, a long dagger blade biting deep into the stone before her.

"Try that again and I'll smash this." said the one with the prophecy. "Tell us what we want to know."

"The itty bitty babies think they're so tough." Bellatrix ripped off her mask and pushed her hood back, baring her teeth in a hellishly challenging grin. "Show me your faces, little babies. Don't hide your fear from me. I can hear the rush of your blood in your veins, the hammering of your little hearts."

"Fear isn't the only thing that can do that." The ball was tossed teasingly from side to side. "Come and get it, mad Bella, if you can."

Rodolphus grabbed his wife's arms and she began to thrash angrily. "You dare... You dare-"

"Enough of this." Lucius growled out over her inarticulate swearing. "Give me the prophecy, Addams!"

"Who said I was Harveste?"

" **What?** "

Lucius made to draw his wand, but then, impossibly, a wind began to pick up, tinged with the scent of palm wine and rich dark chocolate. His breath caught in his throat as a rush of lust suddenly spiked through him, and he nearly stumbled in surprise. "What on- An incubus?"

One of the taller ones laughed, making the lust they felt build higher before it faded away. "Flattery won't get you anywhere. Do not move, please. No one wants to see old people have sex."

Rodolphus, as insane as his wife, was shaking with laughter even as he clamped his hand tight around Bellatrix's mouth to keep her from screaming the Killing Curse.

"Eww, Vali. Just... eww." The one with the ball said.

"Even now, Jormungandr? Seriously?"

"For goodness' sake, you two." sighed one of the girls. "This isn't the time."

"Where. Is. Harveste. Addams." Lucius bit out, his patience already wound tight. What the hell were these children playing at?

"Close by." The one addressed as Vali said.

"He's sent you to do his dirty work, has he?" Bellatrix spat between her husband's fingers. "He's sent you to die in his place!"

"No, he hasn't." An eerily lilting feminine voice spoke up, the mask it had issued from tilted to one side coquettishly. "He sent us to distract you."

A sudden warning howl rent the air, setting all their nerves on end, and just as it reached its peak, it was cut off as suddenly as it started. Lucius could hear some of the newer Death Eaters behind him start to shuffle in uncertainty.

"And now that we've accomplished that, we don't need this any longer, do we?" Vali continued, taking the ball away from the shorter one.

It crashed onto the floor, splintering into a thousand pieces, the prophecy lost forever.

"Cursed child!" That was the last straw for Bellatrix. She tore away from her husband and screeched, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Everything went downhill after that.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harveste chuckled as he heard the screaming begin. "The fun has started. Shall we join them, Uncles?"

Lumeno looked up from where he had been licking contritely at Liverworth's wounds, his ears drooping in shame.

"It wasn't your fault for getting caught." Liverworth said, countering the werewolf's unspoken apology, barely wincing as he pulled his dislocated fingers back into position. "I should have known it was a trap. Forgive me, Harry."

"No need, Uncle. We were in need of a little outing after our O.W.L.s. Come along before we miss the fight."

Liverworth stood up, popping his knee into place as he did so. "What about him?" He asked, gesturing towards the severely beaten and bleeding form in the large silver cage.

"We shall leave him alive for now." Harveste smiled into the emotionless blue eyes that stared at him from a wolf's face. "It's no fun killing off all Tom's toys in one go. Until next time, puppy, yes?"

Fenrir watched as the trio calmly walked away. The lust of the wolf clawed against his insides and he closed his eyes as he fought it down. Scenes played behind his eyelids as he sought the reason... the reason...

He had smelt the Addams before he had appeared. It wasn't even as if the boy had been trying to hide himself, but STILL he couldn't catch him. His companions had fallen with every step of the deadly dance, Fenrir beyond caring, all fangs and claws and instinct, his eyes nailed on the tauntingly quirked lips and the night-black hair that whirled with his movements, trailing that enticing scent.

Foward... backward... across... up and over... starting from the beginning, always ahead of his attacks...

And then... the boy had whirled another way and ended up flush against his chest.

It was as if the Addams had been weaving a spell and the alpha had stepped right into the center of the web.

And Fenrir hadn't struck him down. He couldn't, and the reason still eluded him. All he could do was snarl helplessly into the amused green eyes. He had been so wholly distracted that he hadn't even realized the two prisoners were free until a knife had slid almost thoughtfully into his back.

Now, Fenrir shook his head and pushed the cage door open, ignoring the burn of silver against his paws. He hobbled out, forcing the wolf's power into healing the deepest wounds before he Apparated away to where the Dark Lord was waiting.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The red cloaks were easy to follow, tempting targets flitting about in the gloom. The Death Eaters stupid enough to assume that their visibility made them easy to kill were already scattered around the floor.

Liverworth and Lumeno had jumped into the fray without a second thought. Harveste remained leaning against one of the shelves, a cup of tea and a saucer in his hands as he watched over the goings-on with a benevolent smile. His friends looked like they were having the time of their lives.

Draco and Luna fought in a similar way, each using their smaller stature to evade their attackers, darting out from unexpected corners to strike their blows then disappearing before any retaliation could be dealt. The only difference was in their choice of weapon. Luna used her whip to snatch the wand out of her foe's hand before lashing out with her fists or feet. Draco moved with a surgeon's precision, slicing tendons and nicking veins just enough to weaken but not kill.

Cedric zoomed high above them on a broom, trailed by five Death Eaters. As Harveste watched, the Hufflepuff cast a Stunner, making one opponent fall out of the air. Then he changed direction unexpectedly, meeting one Death Eater's face with a baseball bat and another with a fist before cutting the broom's flight power and dropping downwards. The remaining two crashed into each other. Harveste hid his smile as Cedric did a celebratory loop-the-loop before swooping over someone who was creeping up on Luna, grabbing whoever it was by the collar and throwing them against a shelf.

Hermione's laughter caught his attention. He followed the sound to where she was, in front of the door, her double-bladed staff a blur in her hands and a few unconscious bodies before her.

"It's too easy for her." An amused voice said behind Harry. "For all of us, actually. You've taken the fun out of fighting anyone else."

"We must find you some worthy opponents then, darling." He smiled as Blaise took up station next to him, the scent of wine and chocolate unmistakable even underneath the thicker smell of blood. "I don't suppose anyone has actually died."

"No, although I don't see the point in keeping them alive. We could end this all so much quicker. It's harder trying not to kill them."

"All in good time."

"Harveste," Blaise sighed and the placid gaze turned towards him. "Are you sure about this?"

"Do you trust me, Vali?"

"Of course I do. You think I'd follow you all the way here if I didn't?" The Slytherin muttered as he fought the ridiculous, inexplicable desire to blush yet again. "Or that I'd wear Hermione's stuffy damn mask for nothing?"

"True. I am sure she will keep you all in line for the rest of the year." The brunette said with a cryptic smile.

"What do you mean?"

Above the door Hermione was guarding, two other portals opened, signaling the entrance of the Order of the Phoenix.

"And here are the rest of the players. Do be certain to ask Hermione to explain while I'm gone."

"Hang on, gone?" Blaise blinked, confusion making his heart skip a beat. "What are you talking about? That wasn't part of the pla-"

But he was too late. Harveste had already disappeared.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Hermione had never felt this alive before. Her heart beat harshly in her chest, pushing blood that felt like molten lava through her veins. Her skin was cold though, and her hands steady as she swept her weapon left and right. A flick of her wrist had her opponent's mask off, skewered on the end of one sharp blade. It was either Rodolphus or Rabastan, she had no idea which, but she didn't care. All that mattered was incapacitating him and she set about it with a vengeance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bellatrix battling with a laughing Liverworth. Her friends were elsewhere, spread out, against both Death Eaters and Aurors now, driving them all towards the Veil of Thoth, the great stone arch in the middle of the Study of Death. Harveste had given them a timeline to accomplish what had to be done, and somehow everything was happening just as he had said it would.

Something was niggling at the back of her mind though, even as she drove her enemy backwards into the gloom of a hidden corner to dispatch him. They were all to meet at the Veil, but Harveste hadn't said why. They had been told of a plan, yes, but she almost certain that it wasn't the entire plan. The gods knew that she loved and trusted her best friend, but he was always so secretive, everything he did wreathed in congenial ambiguity, working towards a goal that they still weren't privy to. Or at least, a goal they hadn't figured out yet.

 _She_ hadn't figured it out yet. Just the thought of it made her frown.

The man sensed her moment of inattentiveness and darted forward, ducking beneath her instinctive swipe and pulling the staff out of her hand as he swept her feet out from under her. Within seconds, she was on the floor, her wrists held behind her back and a wand jabbed in the hollow of her throat.

"You are quite the wildcat." The man's stale breath washed over her cheek. "The Dark Lord will appreciate such a gift."

"Bad guys always celebrate so early. It's so disappointing."

Cedric, rounding a doorway to keep the Aurors from seeing him, met Hermione coming the other way. Behind her, a man was slumped in a sitting position, a bloody red gash along his forehead.

"Do I want to know what happened to him?"

The witch shrugged, balancing on one foot as she folded the blade back into the groove of her shoe. "He found out how flexible women can be."

"Gosh. We never want to piss you off, do we?"

"Just don't call me a wildcat." Hermione smiled at him as she peered around at where the others were still fighting. "It was just so condescending-"

She was just in time to see a jet of red light catch Liverworth square in the middle. Her fingers flew to her mouth as he began to fall.

Straight through the Veil.

"NO!" Hermione was half-surprised that the scream hadn't come from her. She saw Blaise tackle Draco out of the way as the blond made to rush his triumphant aunt. "YOU FUCKING BITCH! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD AND EAT IT!"

"Oh no no no." Hermione felt shock flood through her system and her breaths became quick and shallow as she tried to make sense of what she had seen. "It can't- The Veil- Oh poor Uncle Liverworth, we were supposed to save him- How am I ever-"

"Hermione!" Cedric grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her gently. "We don't have time to mourn for him, not here. What do we do now?"

She bit her lip in a rare bout of indecision. "We... we have to stick as closely to Harry's plans as possible. Get Luna and keep the Aurors away as long as you can. We've got to be ready to leave when Harry makes his move."

"What about Lumeno?"

"I'll... I'll get him. Just be ready."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The place was a maze. Hermione fought back tears as she ran through every room looking for a tell-tale glimpse of a tail, brown fur, anything that would tell her where the Addams werewolf was. She couldn't imagine how to break the news to him that Harveste's godfather... that the only other Marauder...

"I just killed your mate, ickle doggy. Did you wuv him?"

Apparently she didn't have to. As Hermione pushed the lift grilles open, she saw the circling forms in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren: the snarling werewolf with saliva dripping from its bared fangs, and Bellatrix, all insane eyes and ragged hair.

Lumeno moved first, springing forward, his wild eyes intent on the woman's throat. Bellatrix danced out of the way, silver fire bursting from the tip of her wand as she did so. The werewolf twisted at the last minute, the spell catching him on the side. His skin split in two, the wound so deep the white of bone was visible. Lumeno crashed to the floor with a howl.

A muzzle materialized, forcing his jaws together, and ropes lashed tight around him.

"Pathetic. Back to Fenrir with you, halfbreed." The witch sneered spitefully. "But don't worry, I'll make sure your lover has lots of people to meet him in the Underworld. Bitty baby Potter will make a fine companion, after the Master is done with him."

"No." whispered Hermione. The sorrow and anger she was feeling suddenly swept through her, tightening her throat, but she forced herself to swallow as she stepped out to where they could see her. "No."

"What is this? Another of the filthy ickle half-blood's friends?"

Bellatrix watched in interest as the slim red-clad form stiffened. Then, slowly, the mask was removed, baring a child's face to the light. Her head was held high, her mouth set in a firm, proud line. "Yes, I am. Let Lumeno go and I won't harm you."

"You? Harm me?" Bella let out a bark of laughter. "Do you know who you are talking to, little girl?"

"Do you?

The child's voice was measured and even. Even Bella, blessed though she was with Anubis' power, couldn't smell the slightest hint of anxiety. The audacity of it made the wrathful void swell within her. "I do not need to know the name of someone who will die horribly in a few minutes."

"Neither do I."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

 _This is not happening. This is_ not _happening!_

When Bellatrix had cast the Killing Curse, Lucius' blood had run cold. One of those red cloaks had hidden his son, he was certain of it. The thought of Draco dying by his mad sister-in-law's hand had nearly been enough to shatter his facade, but thankfully his body moved before his mouth had, hauling Bellatrix's arm up to disrupt her aim.

It was almost certainly the Zabini boy that had broken the prophecy, and Lucius was grateful that Draco's friend had seemingly developed nerves of steel, because if he had shifted in the slightest, the Avada would have hit him instead of the shelf behind him.

"Fool! We need them alive!" Lucius had growled furiously at his sister-in-law, fighting against the urge to throttle her. She could have killed his son!

And then the children had darted away, faster than any eye could follow, and the second part of the plan started.

Harveste Addam's plan.

The other Death Eaters had scattered immediately, except for him. Lucius had felt his whole body shift under his dark cloak as he walked calmly between the rows and out of sight. Not everyone could have accomplished that, coping with the changing length of leg bones and the re-fusing of vertebrae while moving, but it had been a favorite trick of his when he was in Hogwarts and it came back to him easily. A few seconds and he was unrecognizable, except for his eyes, which remained a clear grey. Not even Woden Himself could change His eyes. Eyes were the windows to the soul, and no one could change their soul.

At least, a Dark wielder of Woden's power could not. Apparently the followers of Blood magic could. Lucius felt his stoicism melt away as he watched his son, the one they had so jokingly called Jormungandr, dart back and forth like a deadly arrow, the knife in his hand gleaming like a star in the gloom. He could see no hesitation in the way Draco moved, no excess flair, no posturing. This was not the spoiled child that Narcissa had raised, the one who had thrown a tantrum on his fifth birthday because he hadn't liked the way a present was wrapped. Lucius suddenly felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff with his son on the other side, a huge gaping abyss separating them. What had happened to Draco to turn him into such a-

A howl of horror had caught his attention and he raised his head to catch the last moments of Liverworth Addams.

Lucius had run forward as Draco vengefully made to confront his aunt, but thankfully a large form had cut his son off before he could. Lucius had always indulgently listened to the stories of the Addams' house and this year, it had become mostly 'Liverworth this' and 'Liverworth that'. It had gotten to the point where Lucius was ready to assume that his son had a crush on the man. The truth had been much simpler than that.

Draco, a prankster at heart, had been ecstatic at having the chance to learn under a master. His son was as serious a student as Granger and the little time that the four of them weren't  together was spent looking up obscure potions and experimenting. Draco held his few friends dear, even though he didn't show it.

Now,Liverworth might as well have died. No one came back from the Veil.

His son had just lost a friend, and the depth of feeling behind the maddened screams betrayed his misery.

Then Miss Granger had deviated from the plan, chasing after Bellatrix in Draco's stead and Lucius had followed.

Now he stared aghast at the rubble that peppered the once pristine Ministry Atrium. The Fountain had been destroyed, had exploded somehow, with the centaur's golden statue embedded waist-deep in the far wall. The unfettered geyser gushed forth from the wreck, peppering everything with freezing needle-like droplets. It didn't seem to matter a whit to Miss Granger, whose expression was as fierce as any lioness, focused unerringly on the face of the Dark Lord's most deranged follower as they fought. She seemed to have an unending supply of weapons and a high pain tolerance. He had seen her take a concussion spell that would have blinded a lesser man, but though her eyes had been blank for a minute or two, her hands and her feet had never paused, confidence in every firm step and strike.

A snuffle brought his attention to the werewolf bound at his feet. The distressingly large laceration had been scored bone-deep into his left side when Lucius had pulled him away from the warring females. It was smaller now, thanks to the accelerated healing that was typical for his kind, but Lumeno was still losing a lot of blood. Lucius knelt down and pressed a chunk of bread to the gaping, panting jaws.

Only a few of Woden's followers knew the old chant of healing. The Dark Lord only bid him use it when even Scabior's talents weren't enough to minister to one of the wolfpack, and for good reason. Not only was it draining, it was bad for his image. A Malfoy, curing other people? He'd never live it down.

"I have not seen the Blessing of Woden in some time."

"It only works on the wolves." The Malfoy patriarch said, quietly acknowledging Harveste as he appeared, shadows reluctantly melting off the thin body. The boy was serenely sipping something that looked like blood-red tea even as he watched his friend fighting in a life-and-death situation. "Where is my son?"

"Safe, as I promised."

Lucius felt the tightness in his heart ease. Draco and Narcissa were the only reasons he had ever agreed to this.

"H-Harry..." Lumeno had managed to half-shift and now desolation made his fur-covered face look grey and haunted. "The Veil... Liverworth..."

The Addams boy blinked slowly, allowing Lucius to see the moment when his eyes shifted, the pupils slitted like a cat's, before they returned to normal. His voice remained as smooth as ever and a hand caressed the werewolf's sweating brow gently.

"Sleep now, Uncle." The soft cool voice said, at once soothing and dangerous. "We shall see what can be done."

The air suddenly seemed to burst, as if there had been some invisible eruption, and hot gale-force winds began to lash furiously in the enclosed space, forcing Lucius to shield the healing werewolf against the abrupt assault.

"I am too old for all these accursed surprises! Do not waste your power!"

"I have never wasted anything. But it is not I." Harveste laughed, the high thin sound like the screech of a ravening hippogriff that fit in perfectly with the howling of the forming tempest, and gestured towards the wreckage of the fountain.

Or where the wreckage had been. The searing hot gusts of air were almost certainly forming a mirage, because Lucius would swear that he was looking at a marble altar, the image shimmering and shifting but undeniably there.

Miss Granger had managed to corner Bellatrix. The straggly-haired head whipped this way and that, seeking a way out, but everywhere she looked, blades appeared, driving her up against the vague image.

The young witch wasn't even looking at her. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving silently, as if she was in the middle of a trance. The milky-white altar became firmer somehow, and beyond it, Lucius could no longer see the darkness of the ruined Atrium. Instead, there were more marble arches with hints of blue sky beyond, walls hung with rich tapestries and a statue on a throne, sitting across from... offerings?

The grey eyes widened when he realized exactly what he was looking at.

It was a god's temple.

Everything happened simultaneously. Miss Granger dropped her double-bladed staff and slashed her palm open with yet another hidden dagger, sweeping her arm out to scatter the blood drops wide-

Bella let out an unhinged beastly scream and black tendrils burst forth from her hands, undulating disturbingly, each like a slice through reality as they were sent screeching straight for-

The wind built up, making the very stones of the wall rattle and shake-

A glutinous essence began to seep out from under and around the great statue, oozing over the immaculate stone like viscous, corrosive tar-

And Miss Granger opened her eyes. They glowed like amber in the midst of a dragon's flames, and her voice reverberated mightily throughout the room.

"To you! NANE!"

The world burned white. For a moment, there was a feeling of extreme suction, akin to a Portkey but multiplied a thousand times.

Then it stopped, and Lord Voldemort arrived.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Harveste chuckled quietly as the air cleared and the wind died, and he waved for Lucius to take Lumeno and a panting Hermione back to the Study of Death. The temple was nowhere to be seen, Bellatrix's still form lying forlornly half in the shadows.

"Hello Tom."

The red eyes sparked in the gloom at the sound of his voice and Harry stepped out into the space Hermione had so kindly cleared with her Low Call. He would have to commend her for the creative usage of items on hand.

"Potter. I knew you would come." The sinuous voice said, triumphantly. "Where is my prophecy?"

"It is gone." Harry watched the snake eyes narrow. "But I know what it is. Would you like me to tell you?"

"I do not barter with children. You will tell me or you will die." It was a statement, not a question.

"Promises, promises."

Harveste stepped forward. A table materialized between them as he approached, complete with a set of china and folded black napkins.

For possibly the first time since the start of his despotic reign, Voldemort looked utterly disconcerted, as if he had taken a spoonful of sugary syrup instead of the expected slug puree. Harveste hid a smile as he sat down primly and gestured at the opposite chair.

"What foolishness is this?"

"I thought we might talk as civilized people. This is how the Headmaster does it." Harry said as he filled both cups politely.

"Do not compare me to that man. I am not one of your playthings, Potter. I do not have time for tea. I want my prophecy."

"There is always time for tea. And the only way you will be able to hear the prophecy now will be from my lips or not at all. I am sure the Headmaster will not accommodate you, no matter how civilized he might be."

Voldemort didn't move, choosing instead to glare at him, the expression frightening on his starkly white face. "Potter." He hissed threateningly. "What is this trickery?"

"No tricks, though I should repay you in kind." Emeralds gleamed over the edge of the cup. "All the pawns you sent after me and my friends, all your tokens... There is no need to be coy, Tom. You could have just asked me to join you."

The transparent, vertical eyelids shuttered and opened as the Dark Lord continued to track his movements. Harry imagined that the still way he held his body was as much part of his frightening persona as the Killing Curse. Even someone who had trained all their life to read people's unconscious body movements would have had a hard time predicting Voldemort's next move.

"You are meant to join me." The Dark Lord finally hissed, his thin tongue flicking out to test the air. "You are not of the Light. You revel in pain and despair as I do. Imagine what we could achieve if you were by my side."

Harry smiled. "At least ask me on a date first."

The slitted nostrils flared testily. "Your impudence will cost you."

"It already has. One of your pets has terminally inconvenienced my godfather. Bellatrix is fortunate that the goddess Nane prefers to take trophies other than lifeblood, though if we wait a little longer, she might just expire on her own."

Red eyes flickered in the direction he was smiling at. True enough, Bellatrix was still alive, blood peppering her lips, breaths becoming shallower as she struggled back into consciousness. Voldemort turned away coldly. "That is none of my concern, Potter."

"Addams." He corrected as he stirred his beverage. "Sit down, Tom, do. Unless you truly do not want to hear the prophecy?"

A disgusted look crawling across his pallid face, the Dark Lord finally pulled out the chair and settled down, swallowing the scalding tea in one draught. "I will make you pay for this indignity." He promised darkly.

"I am sure you will try." Harveste said with a smile. "Now, 'The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.'"

Voldemort's long-fingered hand had been tightening around the cup as he spoke, and at the last words, the china shattered. "And that is my prophecy, is it?" The hiss was withdrawn and quiet, the man seemingly in deep thought. "Every word of it exactly as you said?"

"You would not believe me even if I said it was, Tom. But it is the truth, yes, every word."

"Then you must die."

The table and everything on it combusted, devoured by angry black flames, but Harveste had already disappeared, trailing his laugh behind him.

"You have an adorable temper, Tom."

At Voldemort's silent command, the black flame lengthened, expanding as it licked at the oxygen-rich air, filling the room with its rattling hiss until the Dark Lord was standing in the midst of it. "Face me, child, and I will make your death quick."

"As you wish. But I am afraid you are a few years too late."

Voldemort whirled around and found himself looking into smiling poison-bright eyes.

"Prophecies can be so fickle, dear Tom. I am not the one you are looking for. I have already died."

The words whispered temptingly close over his sallow cheek, then Voldemort blinked in evident surprise when he registered just what had been said.

"Liar! You are alive!"

"So are you." Harveste raised his head as the scent of cinnamon wafted towards him. "I'm afraid I must take my leave. Do your best, dear Tom. I shall be so disappointed if you let _him_ defeat you before we have a chance to play a little more."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Lucius, resigned to his role as a chauffeur, had floated his two charges back to where the others were hidden behind a serviceable Disillusionment Charm. The Zabini boy had assumed from his black cloak that he was an enemy, but Miss Granger, still processing her successful Low Call, grabbed the knife out of the air and shook her head.

"He's one of us, I think."

Draco took a wary sniff and his eyes widened in surprise. "Father? What are you-"

"Hush, Draco, this isn't the time. You must get out immediately."

"What? But we- Harveste-"

"Now, Draco."

Miss Granger's eyes still glowed warmly from the power beating under her skin. "This is part of the plan, Mister Malfoy? What about Harveste?"

"He will meet you in Hogwarts. Do not let them see you when you leave."

"But-"

The Zabini boy rolled his eyes under his mask as he hoisted the protesting younger blond onto his shoulder. They melted away in short order, thanks to a seamless blanket of Miss Granger's spells, and as soon as he was sure they were gone, Lucius had picked his way back towards the Atrium.

Where Dumbledore was fighting the Dark Lord.

Lucius threw himself behind a chunk of marble just in time. A purple spell shrieked past him.

"By Odin's Eye." He muttered, peering around and trying to spot a glimpse of the thin black form he had gotten used to seeing all throughout the year. Retirement was looking better and better. "This had better bloody work, Addams..."

A hand caressed his cheek, startling him so much he had to stifle a gasp. It was so bitingly cold, a shock of pain, and he found the large green eyes looming out of the dark.

"Of course it will work, Lucius. You are very beautiful. This will not be a hardship at all."

A sardonic smile was suddenly way too near his face, and then there were a pair of lips on his. Instinctively, he tried to jerk back, but pushing against the hand at his neck was like trying to push against a wall.

His lower lip was nipped, almost delicately, and blood began to flow.

Then, as if an ice block had burst inside his chest, a nerve-chilling freeze began to take over his body, spiking painfully into the marrow of his bones and stabbing through his organs. He gasped reflexively and a thick, warm liquid filled his mouth.

It was blood, but it tasted like… peppers and spiced tea.

The frost was already creeping over the silver-grey irises when his eyes suddenly widened in realization.

_This is-_

And then, much to Lucius' mortification later on, he fainted.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Voldemort had been more vindictive than usual, not a word passing his lipless mouth as he attacked, accompanying the Darkest of spells with the shape-shifting attacks of the black flames. Dumbledore had tried to goad him into making a mistake, tried to puncture his pride enough that he would reveal any hint of his current machinations, but it was for naught. If it hadn't been for Fawkes at a very crucial point, Albus himself would have been naught as well. Evidently the gods still smiled down at him.

As soon as more Aurors had arrived, Voldemort had disappeared, taking a piteously cowering Bellatrix with him. There had been something in the crimson eyes that did not bode well for her.

Now, Ministry of Magic employees crawled over the rubble as a stunned Cornelius Fudge's eyes darted hither and dither. Dumbledore had revived the statues of the Fountain to help with the search, though the house elf and the goblin remained flanking the Minister. It was an appropriate look, Albus thought sourly, that the cringing, cowardly little man be metaphorically pinned between what the Wizarding World thought of as subservient creatures.

"He was there!" Williamson bellowed from across the room. "I saw him, Mister Fudge, I swear it was You-Know-Who-"

"I know, I saw him too!" The Minister gibbered. "Great heavens above- It just doesn't seem possible- How can this be-"

Albus frowned. Even after all this time, with his precious Ministry ripped to pieces before his eyes...

"If you proceed downstairs into the Department of Mysteries, Cornelius, you will find several escaped Death Eaters-"

"Dumbledore? What are you doing here?"

"I found one! A Death Eater!" Someone else yelled. "And... By the gods, his scar- It's Harry P-"

"Don't say the name!" Dumbledore and Fudge shouted together as they hurried to where the Auror was.

The Headmaster did indeed recognize the still dark form as his student, lying unconscious though he was, and right beside him was-

"Dear gods, it's Lucius Malfoy!" The bowler hat twirled between the Minister's hands, then he focused on the Addams and Albus saw the pudgy set of his jaw as the man once again arrived at the wrong conclusion. "This is one of your students, Dumbledore, someone who you have sent to defame me somehow- Do not try to deny-"

"Cornelius, a few minutes ago you saw proof with your own eyes, proof of what I have been trying to tell you these past twelve months, and it is time that you listened to sense. Lord Voldemort has returned, it is irrefutable."

Fudge blustered and shuffled in his pajamas. "Dumbledore, you- you will need to tell me exactly- what happened- what has to happen-"

"We will discuss this after I have brought my student back to school."

"But- Now see here-"

"Do shut up, Cornelius."

Dumbledore allowed himself a second to savor the look of shock that crossed the Minister's face before he Levitated Harveste's thin body and Portkey'd to his office.

He settled the unconscious boy on a chair and went behind his desk. Thoughts were whirling in his mind now, numerous possibilities of how he could- arrangements that would be beneficial- a purpose, any purpose that would explain, that would get the young one on his side-

Legilimency-

The Headmaster shook his head with a sigh. No. That could never happen, not now, not when he was on the side of the Light. Direct manipulation was forbidden to them. He could only do it indirectly, through friends or perceived enemies, or by his words, though that had never worked on Harveste Addams before.

Ah well. There was always a first time for everything.

"Ennervate."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

The next morning, before breakfast had even started, the door to the Infirmary burst open. It was the only warning Madame Pomfrey had before a worried gaggle of students and one teacher's aide descended on her.

"Where is he?" Hermione Granger asked, anxiety twisting her face, "Is he alright?"

"He hasn't spoken since the Headmaster brought him back from the Ministry." The Healer's eyes softened at the girl's genuine concern and gestured toward a curtained corner. "I'm sure he will be happy to have a few visitors. Just try to keep the noise down please."

"I bet he's just trying to find a way to eat other people's painstakingly crafted potions." Draco was saying as they approached the hidden bed. "As if it's really Harveste-"

Hermione stifled a wail as she took in the sight of her best friend. His skin was as pale as ever, almost as snowy-white as the sheets around him. Black hair, carefully brushed over the pillow, looked limp and somehow lifeless. He was as stiff as a plank, the only movement the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed shallowly. He wasn't even blinking, and his eyes were so dark as to be barely green, staring blindly upwards at the ceiling.

"What the hell? How the bloody hell did this happen?"

"Oh Harveste." Luna said softly, tears welling up in her voice.

"That's not Harveste." Draco said, crossing his arms over his chest in denial. "That can't be. He's messing with us."

He made a grab for the progress chart, only to find that Hermione had already taken it. They pored over Madam Pomfrey's notes fervidly. Cedric remained quiet as he pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. Blaise mimicked him on the other side, offering Luna a seat as well.

"No broken bones, no internal bleeding of any sort, not even a scratch. No physical trauma of any kind, it says here." Draco glanced down at the white sheet, as if he was itching to find out first-hand, but he thought better of it. Unconsciousness or not, Harveste was still Harveste. "Maybe it's mental?"

"He was always mental."

"Shut up, Blaise." The papers rustled. "Severus didn't write anything down. So why the hell isn't he moving?"

"First Liverworth, and now this." Hermione hiccuped miserably. "I should've asked about the entire plan..."

"As if he would have told us. You know how he is." said Blaise. After his first glance at the bed, he hadn't looked again, choosing instead to focus at a point on the wall. Then Hermione crossed in front of him and he saw the expression on her face.

Draco had Obliviated and Stunned their dorm-mates before they had left, and the spells had still been in effect when they had returned, which had been a hidden blessing. Hermione had spent the rest of last night pacing restlessly, her power fluctuating from left-over adrenaline. Draco had smelt the difference immediately and had congratulated her, but Blaise had sympathized. Even though it had been a few months after his own Low Call, he could feel his magic itching at his insides, begging to be let out. He wanted to run, to howl, to rip and tear with his teeth, to hit with his fists until there was nothing left. He wanted to kill.

But he couldn't, because just killing for the hell of it would tip the scales, and if it tipped enough, someone would be sent to kill _him_ and it would be excruciatingly painful, both physically and mentally.

That had been one of the reasons that Harveste had reminded them not to enjoy themselves too much. That, and it would drive the Dark Lord insane to know that they could have decimated his ranks further but chose not to.

"We are going to figure what happened to him, otherwise I'll never be able to face his mother. Harry's given us all the clues we need, and it's time we put them together." Hermione announced firmly. "We're going to the Library."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

They had re-convened in the Room of Requirement after borrowing all they could from Madam Pince. Not even Cedric had been spared from Reading Time. Hermione had given him Myrddin to look over, claiming his fresh eyes could be the key to spotting anything they might have missed.

As always, she was right. The Hufflepuff boy was halfway through the book when he finally spoke up, his voice tinged with awe. "I can't believe it. Merlin’s father was Pan. THE God Pan."

"You got that after reading it just one time?" Even Hermione looked impressed. "That took me three days!"

Blaise looked up from his forced revision. "I never saw that in there."

"Of course you didn't."

"My family follows Apollo, so we have to know about Pan." Cedric turned the page, his eyes rapidly going over the words. "I've never seen these theories before, but it makes so much sense. Merlin could tell the future and the past. He lived in the forest and had a rapport with the animals, and he could shapeshift into a stag and a boar, animals sacred to Pan. And here's the biggest clue of all. All of his lovers, all of them, are somehow related to water."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Draco.

"Because a forest cannot support the life in it without a source of water." Luna said softly, looking up from her own book. "As the son of Pan, Merlin mirrored the ways of the earth, though perhaps he was not aware of it. It was the magic in his blood that guided his steps and actions. He was so in tune with it that it was said he could use the Voice of the World."

"Until he realized what it could do." Hermione pointed out. "Until he killed that dragon."

"Yes. In a fit of pride and with a single word, he slew one of the most magical creatures in existence. He became so afraid of his own power that he called on the Light and became the first Light wizard. It was the branch of magic he brought to King Arthur's land, and it became popular because it used external magic, making it less personal and therefore wielders had less commitment, the ability to cast the same spells without all the training, without having to sacrifice anything. There was no longer any need to offer up the blood of the best of their cattle to ensure the prosperity of the fields, and the blood of their enemies to guarantee their victory. Light Magic had no equal in those days, nothing to balance it out and it tipped the world in the favor of its users, so their numbers grew. Then they tried to wipe out all of the families that still used the Low Call to Blood Magic."

"When you say it like that, you make Merlin sound a little like the Dark Lord." Cedric said.

"It's the victors that write history." Hermione asserted. Then, as if a light had switched on behind her eyes, she dove for her book bag. "That's it, isn't it? That's it! Cedric, you're a genius!"

"Huh? What'd I say?"

Draco rolled his eyes as Hermione began to turn her bag inside-out. "What's gotten into you?"

"Merlin was exactly like the Dark Lord!" Another book thumped onto the table, almost a foot thick and bristling with bookmarks. "Except that he was Light! A Light Lord!"

"Yes, Herm." Blaise said patiently. "That's why he was called the First Light Lord."

"Who messed up the balance of the earth itself by creating a new kind of magic! Against the very law of Nature, that all things must have a complete and equal opposite. And what happened to him?" Hermione's eyes took on an amber hue as she flipped the pages in excitement. They were covered in her spidery, thin handwriting and Draco realized that the damn thing was her personal journal. "He was killed by the First Dark Lady!"

"Morgana Le Fay. Even Muggles know that."

"No, it was Nimue. Morgaine was the one to strike the killing blow, but the Silver Lady started it all. Do you remember, she was the first to call on the Dark, and she had three daughters, all the same but all different. They all contributed to Merlin's death in their own way. He was tortured by them, broken first because of his hand in creating the imbalance."

Luna blinked. "Ninianne by showing him the love he could have had with her mother, Vivianne by sealing him in a cave for more than three hundred years and taking most of his power, and finally Morgaine, by sleeping with his charge and giving birth to the one that would end the golden age of Arthur's rule. A plan that spanned most of a century, all to restore the balance."

"Exactly! Balance! That's the key to all this!"

"Calm down, Hermione, before you start foaming at the mouth." Blaise reached for the Gryffindor's hand, and Draco's nose twitched as he picked up the comforting scent of vanilla and orange juice. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Light Magic is balanced by Dark Magic, but _Blood_ Magic needs no balance because it _is_ the balance." Hermione's eyes shone like amber under the sun. "It works like a fulcrum; You give something to take something. You _sacrifice_ to gain or maintain power, you don't just take it from the air or the land. And when you pledge during your Low Call, you make a promise to maintain a balance that's bigger than you are. _That's_ why Harry hasn't killed Tom _or_ Dumbledore, not even after all this time, not even after all that's happened. That's why Harry's here, in Hogwarts. That's why Addams are everywhere. To keep the balance."

"I think you're giving them a bit too much credit. I always thought it was because each of them needed a big enough hunting ground."

"Well, and that too." Hermione admitted grudgingly. "But they don't kill just anyone, even though they can. This is why Dark Lords have always risen during a Light Lord's reign. It's in their nature. 'They fight not because of enmity towards each other, but because it is their nature as hunters, even though they are on the same level of the food chain.' Harry told me that."

"So..."

"So, that's the secret of all Blood Magic users, those who remember the First Magic and how it’s supposed to work. It's their responsibility. Our responsibility."

"Thank the gods I'm off the Quidditch team then." Draco said finally. "But what does this have to do with waking Harveste up?"

"Now that we know, we have to do something to restore balance in the school. We can only access our magic in full once we do that, and with the three of us, waking him up will be a piece of cake."

"Well, what balance is there to restore? Everything's gone back to normal with Dumbledore as Headmaster in office again."

"There's one loose end we have to tie up."

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Dolores Umbridge ran for her life.

The Forbidden Forest seemed to be conspiring against her. The uneven earth was made slippery by fallen leaves and treacherous tree roots seemed to specifically catch her feet every five minutes, sending her crashing into the dirt. She had no time to dust herself off though, no time to look where she was going. Her heart was beating like a cast-iron gong in her chest and her lungs felt like they were on fire, but she kept on running, had to run if she had any chance of surviving.

One minute, she was in her office, packing to return to the Ministry, her mind full of all the schemes she could put into motion. Fury had boiled through her when the Minister had called in to tell her that Dumbledore had been reinstated as Headmaster. After all her sacrifice, after all she done for Cornelius, he was still a weakling, still listening to Dumbledore's foolish promises. But she knew people, powerful people. Dolores Umbridge would have her moment in the sun, and it didn't matter how many people she had to walk over to achieve fame and glory.

She hadn't even seen who had struck the blow that had knocked her unconscious. The next time she had opened her eyes, she had been in front of a centaur clan, the filthy half-breed creatures, who had beaten their chests and spouted lies about how they owned the Forest and offered her violence! The cheek of it. They deserved to die.

All around her, hooves thundered, shrieking war cries, the zip of arrows, the clash of weapons, the inhuman roar that rent the air. Between the tree trunks, she could see the swift horse-like bodies as they battled the giant that had somehow appeared in their midst. She ran deeper into the Forest. She had to get away and report this to the Ministry. Dumbledore would never be able to keep his position after this.

A huge furry body scuttled in front of her. It was an Acromantula, its host of eyes gleaming like sullen diamonds in its nightmare of a face, its great pincers clattering and clicking fiercely.

Before she could even summon a scream, a blast of light came out of nowhere, knocking the humongous spider off its feet. Dolores didn't wait to see what happened to it. Sobbing with fear, she ran on.

The darkness of the Forest seemed to press down on her like a physical force. Dolores could almost imagine that she could hear it whispering to her, into her mind, of all the dark places she had been, of the terrors of the unknown, of all that she had done and continued to do in the name of the Light, but the Light was no longer blessing her because she had betrayed and manipulated and destroyed for her own benefit.

She would pay, the wind whispered, pay with everything she had and more.

Branches lashed across her face, and she put her arms up to protect herself, so she didn't see the sudden dip in the land. She crashed hard onto the packed soil and a searing fiery pain burst through her arm. She couldn't contain it any longer and she screamed so loudly that for a moment, she drowned out all the sounds around her. She screamed and screamed and screamed, until her throat felt raw and torn.

"That's it for me."

Dolores twisted around, clutching her broken arm. She had fallen into a clearing, the ground in it torn up and scored with deep claw marks as if there had been countless battles here. A young boy stepped out from behind a tree just to her left, his white-blond hair blowing in a wind she couldn't feel. There was something strange about him, but she still recognized his face.

"D-Draco Malfoy," She started. "We have to get out- Help me!"

The boy made a moue of disgust. "You must be joking."

"After all you've done?" A female voice said from the right, and Dolores jerked her head in that direction. "You've no right to ask for our help."

This wind buffeted her to the ground, as hot as the air from the heart of a desert, and sand scraped harshly against her bare cheeks.

"Please... Please-"

"Shut up." Hermione Granger glared at her. It must have been a trick of the starlight, because when their eyes connected, Dolores saw the brown irises shift and flow like liquid chocolate. "You terrorized the students, you punished people for no reason, you tried to control them. You put us all in danger by not teaching us properly. And you. Almost. RUINED. MY O.W.L.S GRADE!"

"Stop it, Hermione." A quiet voice reprimanded, and Dolores turned to face her last tormentor.

She almost started crying in relief. It was the Zabini boy. He would talk sense into his fellow students, and when she got out of this, she would be kind enough to only expel them.

"Mr. Zabini, Blaise, thank you, thank you-"

"Please don't touch me." The handsome Slytherin looked coldly at her before turning to the other two. "Draco, did you get it?"

"Yup." The blond took a flask out of his sleeve. Inside it was a pulsing reddish-purple substance, and as Dolores stared at it, she felt the answering thump of her heart. "Her fear, as fresh as it can get."

"M-My-"

"Good." The Gryffindor smiled wolfishly. "My turn."

"W-what do you w-want- WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"Your sanity."

The witch raised her wand. The whispering at the back of Dolores' mind suddenly built up, composed of a thousand voices, a thousand tortured screams that triggered horrifying pictures that played in front of her eyes even though she tried to shut them out. All her fears, all her dark secrets, rebounded back at her, clawing across her mind, driving blunt nails into her throat, her ears, her very bones. She felt like she was rent in two but still alive to feel it, over and over and over again and above all that, the high-pitched hissing laughter of the Dark Lord, her greatest fear of all.

Hermione watched expressionlessly as the High Inquisitor began to scream again, scratching madly at her eyes and ears to try and stop whatever she was seeing or hearing, tearing the skin so badly it began to bleed.

She deserved it.

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

"It didn't work." Hermione sighed, collapsing backwards into a chair. "He hasn't woken up."

They had gone back to the Infirmary to check on Harveste after their little 'outing', but Luna, who had stayed to watch over their friend, had said that there had been no change.

"Maybe we have to do another one?" Draco offered. "What about Daphne this time?"

A gust of hot wind and the strong alcoholic smell of wine made him shut up.

"We won't be able to handle another sacrifice, it's too soon. I'm going to take a shower." Blaise stood up, his temples throbbing as he tried to temper the throbbing of his blood. He couldn't give in to the urges, it was too dangerous. He would have to ask his mother how to control them, perhaps by starting meditation over the summer.

"Wait, I think he's got a fever." Luna said suddenly, the first one to see the sudden flush of color that bloomed across the pale, clammy skin. "He's warm!"

"Warm?" Blaise whirled around, his eyes suddenly narrowing. "He's never warm."

"He's...His temperature's going back to normal! Look, he just blinked!"

Hermione and Draco looked at each other. Then Draco's jaw dropped when Blaise strode back to the bed, grabbed Harveste by the shoulders, and kissed him full on the mouth.

"What do you think you're doing, you pervert? He's just bloody woken up-"

Draco ducked as Blaise was blasted across the room. Hermione quickly conjured up a giant bed cushion to muffle the sound of the crash.

"What the hell-"

"That's not Harveste." Blaise growled, picking himself up even as he leveled his wand on the now-upright form on the bed. "It's an impostor."

The green eyes opened to the sight of four wands in his face.

"Well, things have certainly changed since my days here. Is that any way to welcome a visitor?"

"FATHER?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

They kept their silence as Madam Pomfrey had cast the diagnostic tests on 'Harveste'. There had been no need to worry that he would be discovered. Whatever spell that had been cast on him to make him look like the Addams had managed to fool even Medi-Wizardry, and he had been discharged in short order.

Now, they sat in Draco's potions lab, the elder Malfoy explaining his role in the plan.

"So, you're working with Harveste?"

"The Dark Lord thinks I am spying on the Ministry for him, the Ministry thinks I am spying on the Dark Lord for them, and Addams knows that I am keeping an eye on both of them for your benefit." Lucius took a sip of his tea and made a face as he felt a frog egg pass his lips. "What on earth is this, Draco?"

"It'll make you feel better." The blond said absently. "So, you're NOT working for Voldemort?"

Lucius twitched but kept silent about his son's apparent fearlessness in mentioning the name. "I am not."

"But with you here, Voldemort-" Twitch. "-definitely knows that something's up. You won't be able to spy on him anymore."

"That was the part of the plan that eluded me, I admit. Mister Addams was particularly adamant that I continue following the Dark Lord's orders with only a few changes, such as removing an Order of Dismissal for one of your teachers. I was supposed to infiltrate Hogwarts as a regular student, but as you can see, Mister Addams has used that to his benefit."

"But if you're here, Mister Malfoy," Hermione said, biting her lip. "Where's the real Harry?"

Lucius took another sip of the bitter liquid. "I assume you have not read the papers since returning here?"

"We've been... busy."

"I'm sure you were. It is your O.W.L.s year after all. Fortunately, while Miss Lovegood was at my bedside, she was kind enough to read aloud to me from the Prophet." Lucius' face -Harry's face- crinkled in distaste. Even though the mood was so serious, Hermione had to stifle a giggle. "I remember something about the captured Death Eaters being held in Azkaban, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Gregory Goyle Sr., Cravus Crabbe... and Lucius Malfoy."

"WHAT?"

-.-.-.-…-.-.-.-

Gawain Robards had been ordered to patrol with his men in Azkaban, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

The place was filthy, garbage almost ankle-deep in some places, the very stones saturated with the putrid smell of urine and manure. There was no hour of the day where there was silence, because casting new spells in such an ancient edifice would interfere with the protections in place. Besides, there was little to no external magic here, every ounce of energy directed to repairing the wreckage the escaping Death Eaters had caused. Azkaban was self-sustaining and very nearly sentient, just like Hogwarts was. The atmosphere was completely different though, and Gawain could feel the deep distrust in the very air.

He had never heard so much rude language in his life. Every breath from some prisoners was just used up with an unending stream of swear words. Yardley Platt was one of these prisoners, a murderous son of a bitch who deserved to be in Azkaban more than anyone else, baring Death Eaters. He had killed five of his cellmates already, the last for doing something as simple as sneezing. Gawain had had no little pleasure in introducing the serial goblin-killer to his new cellmate, one Lucius Malfoy, a newly-captured aristocrat who was said to be one of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters. Maybe he would get lucky and they would cut each other's tongues out.

"How's it going, Malfoy?"

The blond-haired man was as composed as ever, even though it had already been a week since he had been locked up. Platt's extra blanket, ragged though it was, had been spread on the dirty floor. From the way Malfoy was sitting on it, back straight as he sipped from the tin mug all prisoners were provided, it could have been a Persian carpet.

"Perfectly well, Auror Robards, thank you for asking." The polite, measured voice answered.

"Yeah, well..." The man was damn disconcerting. Even in the dim grey light that filtered from the two-by-two window set high in the wall, his silver eyes shone like newly-polished Sickles. Gawain swallowed nervously. "Some of the guards heard screaming coming from here earlier."

"Just a small misunderstanding, nothing to concern yourself about." Malfoy waved towards Platt, who was slumped over the toilet. "We sorted it out."

"Right... uh, carry on. And keep it down, you hear?"

"I hear."

Harry waited until the footsteps had faded away, then delicately dabbed at his mouth before walking over to the toilet. With a nudge of his foot, Platt fell to the side, his head craning farther back than should be possible, exposing a horrible jagged wound that had slit his throat nearly to the bone.

The toilet bowl was full of his blood and Harry hummed softly to himself as he used Platt's cooling fingers to stir it.

The glutinous red surface shimmered and a bubble burst on its surface as a face appeared.

"Viper!"

"Hello Father. How is everyone?"

"Splendid! Lucius is fitting in well, barring a few accidents. Wednesday has even made him a coffin of his very own. And you're just in time to witness your mother give birth!"

"How lovely."

.

.

…

End of Chapter

 


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